Texty: Johnny Flynn. Eyeless in Holloway.

There's a man at hand
There's a way between
With the sinking sand
And a crooked dream
And collared off at the modern age of nine
Summoned up for walking down the line

They lost eyes in old city streets
Where the funeral pyres burned the last of the meek

Filled his boots
And he tipped his cap
And a root-de-toot
With the boss and that
And told a girl of the summer by the sea
Said to her would you like to go with me

Wind is turned
And a conker drops
And the signals changes
And the hard to soft
In with changes, always out with time
Nothing left but walking down the line

They lost eyes in old city streets
Where the funeral pyres burned the last of the meek

Drag your loose nest through the den
And I come out less with sporting wear
Mould to fit than you'd be feeling now
She is "when" and he is always "how"

Then her sweetness and his sweeter scented
And her fury's swimming til the fury's mended
And lost in all might be to lost in time
What join the dots might be to walk the line

They lost eyes in old city streets
Where the funeral pyres burned the last of the meek
They lost eyes in old city streets
Where the funeral pyres burned the last of the meek
They lost eyes in old city streets
Where the funeral pyres burned the last of the meek