Don Mcglashan This Is London
The traffic has gone quiet
Just the finger-tip drumming
Of the last train on the hill
Now only I can hear it coming
And the moon is way up high
Like a giant map-maker
She paints the windows of our house
With a yellow highlighter
And a voice says This Is London
And I wait and count the beats
And the night fills up the valley
And the cleaners clean the streets
And the words bounce off the satellites
And they fall back down to earth
Across miles and miles of ocean
To the city of my birth
And the inattentive drivers
And the black ice on the bridges
And the friends who break their promises
And the comfortless strangers
I can see them all a-circling
Out there in the future
But tonight they can't hurt you
Tonight they don't matter
Ch
I know you are asleep now
You've gone heavy on my shoulder
I carry you to your bed
Like a boat across the water
Ch