The old romance is over

We made our bed of nails

My faith remains unshaken

Until the day we fail

My bitter degradation

Down under Charing Cross

If I could buy my time again

I'd never start the clock

Shut off inside

On automatic drive

(five two five two five two five two)

My real life

Surviving

525

3.00 am and overcast

And left without a doubt

Got cornered by the butcher boy

And never raised a shout

There was no room for reasoning

No time to hope or pray

When I met my end on Bleeker Street

In the dark and far away

Cut off inside

On automatic drive

(five two five two five two five two)

Might be alive

When I get home tonight