I pretend over and over pretend, that the electricity humming on the underground is the sound of a Spanish guitar.
Mind the gap,mind the gap is some gangsta man rap designed only to trap me.
Hold onto the strap watch what I see
the tubelines are burning the brains and in trains we're on fire,
Finsbury dark in the park and Marylebone is a stop on my way home at the end of the track.
I hate it
I hate it but tomorrow I'll take it again
one more refrain from the strings
one more rap from the man and his gap
one more station to see,
in pretending I'll be
in a sec,
Tooting Bec.
There are shoals,not of fish but of moles,blindly
digging their way to the end of each day and the tube is the way they will go.