We're not strong enough. We're not young enough. We're not alone enough or cold enough. Emotionally we're not even old enough. Late at night we're in a video-game dream. There is no lover in this numbered scene. We summon every childhood ghost we've ever seen. Then suddenly we hear that Mike Post theme. Everything is all right (bong de bong). We've prayed today (la-da-da-da-dah). Everything is OK (bong de bong). We've played today. Late at night on the underground train. Through endless suburbs in endless pain. Then deep in the tunnel under the London rain. Suddenly we hear Mike Post again. Everything is all right (bong de bong). We've prayed today (la-da-da-da-dah). If there really is a God (dong de bong). We should be laid today. We watch those films. That make men cry. Young lovers kiss. Then fight and die. We start to yearn. We climb the vine. We have to face. The truth some time. We're not strong enough. We're not young enough. We're not alone enough or cold enough. Emotionally we're not even old enough. For love.... But late at night we find the racing tame. We're faced with women and a reality game. We feel alive; we feel new and blind. We're hearing Mike Post in the air this time. Everything is all right (bong de bong). We've prayed today (la-da-da-da-dah). If there really is a God (dong de bong). We should get laid today. There comes a time in every little punk's life. Where he has to right a song for his common-law wife. We make our women wait until they wanna scream. But we can always whistle that Mike Post theme. Everything is all right (bong de bong). We've prayed today (la-da-da-da-dah). If there really is a God (dong de bong). We should get laid today. We watch those films. That make men cry. Young lovers kiss. Then fight and die. We start to yearn. We climb the vine. We have to face. The truth some time