When the train pulls out
I’ll be on my way,
thoughts and broken roses,
nothing left to say…….
News in the papers
always reads the same,
nothing ever gets to me like romantic suicide.
Washed up by the river,
scattered by the stones,
thoughts and broken images sitting all alone.

So, when the train pulls out,
I’ll be on my way,
thoughts and broken roses,
nothing left to say…….
Gossip in the high street
always sounds the same,
nothing ever gets to me like romantic suicide.
Dished up by the media,
eaten by the crows,
thoughts and broken images sittting all alone.