Midday in London The terrorists were evidently on strike
So we chanced the tube Subterranean refugees that we were
Up through the sidewalk in Soho We chanced only the meat pie
A man was being propositioned It was a middle-aged female prostitute
"I make love for a living; Want to do business?"
"No thanks, I'm just having a sandwich"
Mister Freddie B. Morris Insists that we are Communists
He, aided by two bottles of rum And half his remaining live brain cells
He's crying over his lost wife whom he left
He's going to France He wishes he could go to Canada
An hour out from Dover He doesn't feel the deck move beneath our feet

Hollywood on a November night The volcano's ashes wouldn't fall through the smog blanket
The air cast a shadow
Somewhere in the city someone was singing I could hear it
Somewhere in the city someone was dying I could feel it
Good and bad news from the same messenger
"Hot and cold running reality" I said to the guy in the next car Waiting for the light to change
"Leave me alone man I want to go home"

These days We put on cars like shoes And walk faster We form lines and remain mute
Almost unaware of the walkers around us As we transcend space
We put on wings like a coat And spend morning and evening in separate worlds
Instant schizophrenia As we transcend time

Maps hide cities And cities hide houses And houses hide faces And faces hide hearts
But hearts still beat quietly
Few feel even their own pulse
But hearts are made to beat
We can drown them out with more accessible rhythms But they continue the counterpoint
Hearts are made to beat
Our souls are still within us Our Creator waits for us to notice
As our geographical boundaries Are chased around the sun by time
Decaying in a fashion some call normal
 



From Stop the Dominoes
Back to Mark Heard Lyric Project