I hear you calling when the most beautiful woman I am passes you by
Merrily full of the illusion I know
Dressed up to the cheap nines
Farting your sentence
Judge and jury without bothering to hear the story
And I won't tell it then
I hear me thinking when the lying spring of central London annoys my face
Inevitably pregnant of the volcano ash
Invisibly toxic to the core
And reaching its verdict
Judge and jury without bothering to hear our story
