The quieter it becomes
The more I hear my ears as horses prancing
The later it becomes
The more I see the fires crimson flames dancing
Could it be the same in Amsterdam or Venice or Rome
Would we find the fire and the quiet more pleasant than at home
I walked to the hairdressers
Past the red brick shop, past the red brick houses
I saw an advertisement for a part-time job
In the department store where they sell satin blouses
Would it be the same, in Paris or London or Milan
Could the hairdresser do perms, or top up your fake tan
Dusk is slowly setting in
Do you fancy a pint, or a tonic laced with gin
Would it be the same, near or far, or wherever
Let's hold hands and breathe, yes my love: it is now or never
