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      He likes to have the morning Paper's crossword solved, Words go up, word come down; Forwards, backwards, twisted round. He grabs a pile of letters From a small suitcase, Disappears into an office It's another working day. And his thoughts are full of strangers Corridors of naked lights, And his mind once full of reason Now there's more than meets meets the eye, Now a stranger's face he carries with him He likes a bit of reading On the subway home, A distant radio's whistling tunes That nobody knows. At home a house awaits him, He unlocks the door Thinking once there was a sea Here but there never was a door And his thoughts are full of strangers And his eyes, too numb to see And nothing that he knows of And nowwhere where he's been Was never quite like this And his thoughts are full Of strangers, corridors Of naked lights, and his mind Once full of reason Now there's more than meets the eye Now a stranger's face he carries with him And at heart he's full of strangers Dodging on his train of thought Train of thought.
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