Early in the morning, just after dawn
Baby's posing around the lawn
Because it's quiet in the morning
And the world is hers
She has responsibility for what occurs
Creaking sound of the old milk float
She adds a postscript to the letter she wrote
Saying "City living takes it out of me -
Can you send me a sachet of sanity"
Sits with a pile of magazines
Her face is falling apart at the seams
Looks pretty awful
But she says she dreams of some land
But dreams get frozen pretty fast around here
Choked by the suffocating atmosphere
And nothing ever seems to be really clear
Living in an urban slum land
Now in spite of a heaviness in her heart
She claims that her life is fuelled by art
And no reality shot will spoil it
D.H. Lawrence in the downstairs toilet
See pictures on the bathroom wall
You could swear you could hear the curlews call
The kindly fisherman drags his net
Goldfish in a bowl on the stereo cassette
But I bet you'd admire her methodical grace
Keeps every fantasy filed in its s***e
But still has a vision she could leave this place
For some land
A Dorset coast is where she would rather lie
With a chorus of gulls serenading the sky
As she watches the unemployed sail by
Living in an urban slumland
Radical solutions didn't get very far
As the past disappeared like a falling star
And now she follows a normal rule
A time warped fossil of the social school
But one day a letter came through the door
Mailed by the lover from '64
Saying "Come along to the coast with me,
I'm setting up a communal fantasy"
1 o'clock she is watching the rain
2 o'clock she is running for the train
But at 9 o'clock she is home again
With shaking hands
Because Gerald was married with a house in Slough
He had wanted to escape, fate didn't allow
And now he wants to disappear somehow
Away from the urban slum land
There is a scribbled note by the side of the phone
Traditional excuse for being alone
She's dressed in a white frock trimmed with lace
Beaks and feathers all round the place
The radio blares it's usual tune
Bruckner comes from each house in the room
And she's returning to the mother star
And she never believes she could go that far
Love the wind and the feel of the spray
Love the girls at the dawn of the day
And always dreamed they would carry her away
To some land
But every morning away they flied
She could never understand why the sixties lied
Over the hills and away she died
Living in an urban slumland
Baby's posing around the lawn
Because it's quiet in the morning
And the world is hers
She has responsibility for what occurs
Creaking sound of the old milk float
She adds a postscript to the letter she wrote
Saying "City living takes it out of me -
Can you send me a sachet of sanity"
Sits with a pile of magazines
Her face is falling apart at the seams
Looks pretty awful
But she says she dreams of some land
But dreams get frozen pretty fast around here
Choked by the suffocating atmosphere
And nothing ever seems to be really clear
Living in an urban slum land
Now in spite of a heaviness in her heart
She claims that her life is fuelled by art
And no reality shot will spoil it
D.H. Lawrence in the downstairs toilet
See pictures on the bathroom wall
You could swear you could hear the curlews call
The kindly fisherman drags his net
Goldfish in a bowl on the stereo cassette
But I bet you'd admire her methodical grace
Keeps every fantasy filed in its s***e
But still has a vision she could leave this place
For some land
A Dorset coast is where she would rather lie
With a chorus of gulls serenading the sky
As she watches the unemployed sail by
Living in an urban slumland
Radical solutions didn't get very far
As the past disappeared like a falling star
And now she follows a normal rule
A time warped fossil of the social school
But one day a letter came through the door
Mailed by the lover from '64
Saying "Come along to the coast with me,
I'm setting up a communal fantasy"
1 o'clock she is watching the rain
2 o'clock she is running for the train
But at 9 o'clock she is home again
With shaking hands
Because Gerald was married with a house in Slough
He had wanted to escape, fate didn't allow
And now he wants to disappear somehow
Away from the urban slum land
There is a scribbled note by the side of the phone
Traditional excuse for being alone
She's dressed in a white frock trimmed with lace
Beaks and feathers all round the place
The radio blares it's usual tune
Bruckner comes from each house in the room
And she's returning to the mother star
And she never believes she could go that far
Love the wind and the feel of the spray
Love the girls at the dawn of the day
And always dreamed they would carry her away
To some land
But every morning away they flied
She could never understand why the sixties lied
Over the hills and away she died
Living in an urban slumland