23 degrees off kilter  Spinning with my cup of tea  Grey skies, sleepy eyes as usual  Morning paper says I’m free    Late again no time to witness  Spring flowers dance on this cold wind  Peeling poster sex reminds me  Why pierced tongue ticket man, just grinned    This is killing me  I feel so alone in this crowd  Is this really me  And will this be my child    Cold cash comfort from my pocket  Lights Eastern European eyes  See little grace in god’s behaviour  But for the grace of me go I    Clocking in while Mr new tie  Tells me things about his wife  Morning coffee three new e-mails  Still waiting for the fax, of life    This is killing me  I feel so alone in this crowd  Is this really me  And will this be my child    I want to see you  I want to feel you    Not the image of you that this journey’s projecting    I want to see you  I want to feel you    Not the Image of you that this journey’s projecting  Not the shadow of you solitude is protecting    This is killing me  I feel so alone in this crowd  Is this really me  And will this be my child