My heart grows cold and turns to stone   Sit and I watch the sun sink, the city turns to gold   It tears my soul in two, I'm leaving here   I'm sick of all these words...   She was sixteen and chasing dreams   Took a trip to London town where she found out what self-preservation means   Yeah, she's old somehow, she's wiser now   Than the people on the street where the rain pours down in streams   Just to wash away the dreams   Things turning sour, four quid an hour   Working down South Ealing, yeah well, she's stacking shelves all day   She's not the kind to shout, man she's breaking out   With the minimum of fuss she's jumped the nearest bus   Just a V-sign for the rest of us   I got your letter yesterday, the only words it said:   'My heart grows cold...'