We could throw ourselves in a road. But receive no comfort from street lights. Why not come in for a jamens and escape life?. We're idle in the mean time. Aristocrats and architects with broken dreams. Well I say the dead sea is dying. You say you're going underground for a while. Well we all need to be recognised for something. Not sure if the devil's eyes are blue. Work and days of underpaid still hold the key. I see this place from my window. It goes on the corner like the rest. There are the buzzards and the crows. Making eyes of a sea. Self obesessed. Now if commandment 11 is don't get caught. Then 12 must be don't ever tell. Then ask yourself do you believe you'll go to hell?. [My mate went to the crossroads to see the devil]. He never showed and if he says that I believe. I hear the place from my window. Call me like a lighthouse to the sea. There swarm the buzzards and the crows. Swirling wide talking wise and there's me. You and I hanging around. Lads who've got childish names. Scissors we cut it out. Shining before by the waves. I need to be recognised. 'Cause we could be self-assured. We could be happy indoors. I know this place from my window. I trip out and fall to the ground down below. Hoods up for the buzzards and the crows. Who believe in the void of themselves. Still believe in the void of themselves. And all the trees and animals of mountains green