Текст песни
I was gifted a book by
Somebody who loved me
About a man who got even with God
Sat in hyperactive London's cold Central Station
The city began sleeping like a dog
Then a tramp with one eye placed his hand on my thigh
I said, "Hold it. Pick a window. You're leaving."
"Oh, do forgive me" he sighed
"I was a fan in my prime."
He must've thought i was somebody else
Here's to the fathers of the lost sons and the unholy ghosts
It's the ones that seem destined to
Get left behind interest me the most
On a street you've never heard of there's a wooden piano
On it's last legs in a last chance saloon
It is manned by a drunkard who is dripping whit poetry
Sitting stupefied, nailed to the stool
The man catches my gaze then produces this page
From his waistcoat with a slip disk smile
"Look boy, here is my last correspondence with Christ."
I tried to read it, but my glasses were filthy
Here's to the fathers of the lost sons and the unholy ghosts
It's the ones who seem destined to get left behind
Interest me the most
I am the prodigal son, resting his head on the drum
That was carried through the welcoming parade
And i'd give all i have
Sure, i'd give all i have
Strip me bare, let me wash in the rains
Past the governament housing, right off Donaldson road
Open collars and open hearts
They swap anorexic lyrics for pyrotechnic rhymes
As car lights knife their way through the dark
Then this feeling persists
We as people exist in a state of anticipation
You know it comes at a cost
Or so the great unwashed have informed me
And i tend to believe them these days
Here's to the fathers of the lost sons and the unholy ghosts
It's the ones that seem destined to
Get left behind interest me the most
I am the prodigal son, resting his head on the drum
That was carried through the welcoming parade