Down from the country, oh he had such plans - about making some money, about living, being a man.
Packed his belongings in a battered old case.
Yes that look of fulfillment, well it stretched across his face.
Thought about his new life, maybe he'd find himself a girl; share a flat and a mattress.
Sure, they'd build that Brave New World.
Take a job in an office, start low but proud.
He could work all the hours - hours the clock would allow.
And he'd reach new horizons, put some money away.
Buy a house in the suburbs, maybe have a son on the way.
Yes, down in the country: schemes and dreams stretch high, no limitations, they train you right.
You take the whole world on a whim.
Down in the station with his foot on his case, well he met some new friends, said they'd show him round the place.
And they bought him a burger, and they showed him the sights.
And he played s***e Invaders.
Oh he got stoned by the light.
Then down to the nightclubs, bought him all of his drinks.
And the sweet-smelling ladies, well, they're looking just at him.
Had a glass too many, had nowhere to go.
And he tripped on a table, they said: ''Time we walked you home.''
And they each took a shoulder, brought a grin to his face.
Gentle limp through the doorway, gently lifted up his case.
Short-cut through the alley, stopped a while for a rest.
Fingers rifled his pockets ... but no success.
And they spread his belongings in the dirt and the rain, and of course they found nothing, as he feebly tried to explain.
Now down in the country, sort things out with your fists.
And he never had a prayer as the switchblade cut his wrists, his chest, his arms.
And the neon gods took him, and they showed him the ropes.
Now he hops down the alley - a city ghost.
Packed his belongings in a battered old case.
Yes that look of fulfillment, well it stretched across his face.
Thought about his new life, maybe he'd find himself a girl; share a flat and a mattress.
Sure, they'd build that Brave New World.
Take a job in an office, start low but proud.
He could work all the hours - hours the clock would allow.
And he'd reach new horizons, put some money away.
Buy a house in the suburbs, maybe have a son on the way.
Yes, down in the country: schemes and dreams stretch high, no limitations, they train you right.
You take the whole world on a whim.
Down in the station with his foot on his case, well he met some new friends, said they'd show him round the place.
And they bought him a burger, and they showed him the sights.
And he played s***e Invaders.
Oh he got stoned by the light.
Then down to the nightclubs, bought him all of his drinks.
And the sweet-smelling ladies, well, they're looking just at him.
Had a glass too many, had nowhere to go.
And he tripped on a table, they said: ''Time we walked you home.''
And they each took a shoulder, brought a grin to his face.
Gentle limp through the doorway, gently lifted up his case.
Short-cut through the alley, stopped a while for a rest.
Fingers rifled his pockets ... but no success.
And they spread his belongings in the dirt and the rain, and of course they found nothing, as he feebly tried to explain.
Now down in the country, sort things out with your fists.
And he never had a prayer as the switchblade cut his wrists, his chest, his arms.
And the neon gods took him, and they showed him the ropes.
Now he hops down the alley - a city ghost.