One last wild walz, One last dark horse. The buskers are all going home, Their music leaves the air, The streets are cold and bare, Theres no more going home. The film leaves the screen, And I , Im still in a dream. The tubes have shut down, Cut off London town, And I, Im not ready to go to ground. Although your strength wains, Hold your dreams by the reigns, Throw your stub to the floor, I swear, I wont drink anymore. face in phosphate street lights, 1,brick, 1, window. Dare call this a sin, Steal a smile, From this shop manequin. Flog the dead horse, One last lap of the course. In new found shoes, One last wild walz, In memory, Of you.