in liverpool on sunday,
no traffic on the avenue
the light is pale and thin like you
no sound, down in this part of town
except for the boy in the belfry,
he's crazy, he's throwing himself
down from the top of the tower
like an unchback in heaven
he is ringing the bells in the church
for the last half an hour
he sound's like he's missing something
or someone that he knows he can't have now
and if he isn't, i certainly am.
homesick for a clock,that told the same time
sometimes you made nosense to me
if you lie on the ground, in somebody's arms
you'll probably swallow some of their history
and the boy in the belfry he's crazy,he's throwing himself
down from the top of the tower,
like an unchback in heaven,he's ringing the bells in the church
for the last half an hour
he sound like he's missing something
or someone that he knows he can't have now
and if he isn't i certainly am.
i'll be the girl who sing for my supper
you'll be the monk whose forehead is high
he'll be the man who's already working
spreading a memory all trough the sky
in liverpool on sunday
no reasons to even remember you now
except for the boy in the belfry.......
