She was born in November 1963. The day Aldous Huxley died. And her mama believed. That every man could be free. So her mama got high high high. And her daddy marched on Birmingham. Singing mighty protest songs. And he pictured all the places. What he knew that she belonged. But he failed and taught her young. The only thing she needs to carry on. He taught her how to. Run baby run baby run baby run. Baby run. Past the arms of the familiar. And their talk of better days. To the comfort of the strangers. Slipping out before they say. so long. Baby loves to run. She counts out all her money. In the taxi on the way to meet her plane. Stares hopeful out the window. At the workers fighting. Through the pouring rain. She's searching through the stations. For an unfamiliar song. And she's pictures all the places. Where she knows she still belongs. And she smiles the secret smile. Because she knows exactly how. To carry on. So run baby run baby run baby run. Baby run. From the old familiar faces and. Their old familiar ways. To the comfort of the strangers. Slipping out before they say. So long. Baby loves to run