Prospects 歌词

A train ride to Tuesday A platform far away Scarlet shades of evening move clouds of grey Awaking, arriving The dirty station where He passes crowds of people who don't see him there Here's a desert island room For a man who's cast away Stranded in this home from home >From his family Far away Home. Well this is it This is it Is this my heart I miss you with all my heart This is not Is this not My home One shoe-lace cardboard suitcase One passport from the Queen One room for a light bulb Where no-one's been Sticks and stones, my old bones Not like nineteen fifty-four Then the liked me fine But not anymore This empty room Where he's marooned With nothing left to say But in the dark He thinks of home far away Home. Well this is it This is it Is this my heart I miss you with all my heart This is not Is this not My home I feel cold, getting old More than the climate's changed Stranded on this island The rate of exchange Here's a desert island room For a man who's cast-away Today he will not be at work There is no work anyway How is it when you feel it Do you wonder what gets you down You're looking in the windows When you walk this town