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The Living Kind

de John Smith

I woke up in an alleyway
In liverpool the ship of fools was sinking
As I rose up from the depths
I stumbled down the road a ways
Found london in a haze of weary violence
It is hard to get my rest
In looking for the best of her
Well I have seen the worst she's had to offer
But there's nothing I'll not keep

England

Blood on the thorn of an english rose
I gather belongings, travelling clothes
Now slowly drifting out of london bridge
It could be a year
It could be ten
Until she begs me back again
And all my miles are measured in an inch

Every fear that's taken over
This wide-eyed waking, rambling rover
Has grown within the heart that is my home

England!
In-ger-land!
England rolls away.

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