(ian hunter)      His feet lay heavy on the road that led to birmingham   Unseeing eyes, defeated cries, the mysteries of men.   Many hears, the helpless tears that leave the troubled brow   A man once tall, he fought them, but he is older now.      For in your youth, you think the truth will always win the game   Some men are kings, some men are rook, some men are pawns to blame   But if your skin is coloured black, well the dice are hidden in   The minds of fools who twist the rules, so you can never win      Birmingham, birmingham, underneath your face   There's nothing but a space - you're hollow.      Unlighted sky, begins to cry, the shabby coat is weak   And homes with windows dressed in warmth, and mouths that never speak   His mind is dead, his visions spread that pass before his feet   And thankfully he wears that dream that shields him from the street      Goodnight my friend, this is the end, you'll never cry again   You'll never have to smile away the bastards and the pain   Is it too late, or can you wait to take another turn   And walk together down that road that leads to birmingham      Birmingham, birmingham, underneath your face   There's nothing but a space - inside you.      Birmingham, birmingham, underneath your face   There's nothing but a space - you're hollow.