cross the border into the big bad world where it takes you 'bout an hour just to cross the road just to stumble across another poor old soul from the dreary old lanes to the high-street madness I fight with my brain to believe my eyes and it's harder than you think to believe this sadness that creeps up my spine and haunts me through the night and life is good suddenly the air smells much greener now and I'm wondering around with a half pack of cigarettes searching for the change that I've lost somehow