Outside a Train roars, the clatter is deafening
Louder than everything, drowns what you were saying
And the Boys get on the back of that train
Their clamour is deafening, It is louder than everything
And they accept no warning
And me in my brilliant red shirt
And my shirt hangs open at the neck
The Train is always passing through
Male passengers turn their heads, following the passage
of a beautiful Ducchess running from carriage to carriage
And it ploughs through the city, and everyone rides the Train
It ploughs a primal instinct to rail against better sense
The Train is always passing through
And me in my bloodstained shirt, my body hangs open at the neck
It is always passing through, through me
The bodies on the back of the train they stink of greedy sex
Leave a trail of instinct and roses and things
|
Switch to English 
