We could throw ourselves in a road
But receive [bad word] from street lights
Why [bad word] in for a jamens and escape life?
We're idle in the mean time
Aristocrats and architects with broken dreams

Well I say the dead sea is dying
You say you're going underground for a while
Well we all need to be recognised for something
Not sure if the devil's eyes are blue
Work and days of underpaid still hold the key

I see this place from my window
It goes on the corner like the rest
There are the buzzards and the crows
Making eyes of a sea
Self obsessed

Now [bad word] 11 is don't get caught
Then 12 must be don't ever tell
Then ask yourself do you believe you'll go to [bad word] 
[My mate went to the crossroads to see the devil]
He never showed and if he says that I believe

I hear the place from my window
Call me like a lighthouse to the sea
There swarm the buzzards and the crows
Swirling wide talking wise and there's me

You and I hanging around
Lads who've got childish names
Scissors we cut it out
Shining before by the waves
I need to be recognised
'Cause we could be self-assured
We could be happy indoors

I know this place from my window
I trip out and fall to the ground down below
Hoods up for the buzzards and the crows
Who believe in the void of themselves
Still believe in the void of themselves

And all the trees and animals of mountains green