Come take a walk with me downtown
Where the ancient spirits may be found
The dull thump of techno is not the sound
That assaults your senses, now
It's the baying hounds
Suddenly you're enveloped in a must
Although you're not drinking you feel quite ******
You've never known a feeling like this
No all the times on acid and mushrooms you've tripped
This must be the wrong alley, you've turned in
It's like a tiny hurricane in which you spin
The lights blur, your stomach churns
You have definitely taken a wrong turn
It must be the 19th Century in which you're found
The way the men's coattails skirt the ground
You want to scream, you can't make a sound
People walk right through you, like there's no one around
All of the shops have shrunk in size
Changed from concrete to marble before your eyes
The windows are smaller, tiny panes of glass
As through the mud and **** you wander past
The black horses stomp, their breath it steams
The silver on their bridles gleams
Sewage runs through the gutters like a stream
Stuck in a 19th Century nightmare dream
The words in the drunken shouts don't really differ
But the accent's changed, grown coarser, thicker
. It's gaslight, not neon now that flickers
But you could probably get a decent pint of bitter
The working girls are still around
They look even dirtier, more worn down
Money for Gin, not crack must now be found
But still the sordid beat they pound
Suddenly, the mist it clears
The smell of horseshit disappears
You were there for a minute, now you're back here
Now you slowly walk back home, shaking with fear
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 4:49 PM UTC
Come take a walk with me downtown
Where the ancient spirits may be found
The dull thump of techno is not the sound
That assaults your senses, now
It's the baying hounds
Suddenly you're enveloped in a must
Although you're not drinking you feel quite ******
You've never known a feeling like this
No all the times on acid and mushrooms you've tripped
This must be the wrong alley, you've turned in
It's like a tiny hurricane in which you spin
The lights blur, your stomach churns
You have definitely taken a wrong turn
It must be the 19th Century in which you're found
The way the men's coattails skirt the ground
You want to scream, you can't make a sound
People walk right through you, like there's no one around
All of the shops have shrunk in size
Changed from concrete to marble before your eyes
The windows are smaller, tiny panes of glass
As through the mud and **** you wander past
The black horses stomp, their breath it steams
The silver on their bridles gleams
Sewage runs through the gutters like a stream
Stuck in a 19th Century nightmare dream
The words in the drunken shouts don't really differ
But the accent's changed, grown coarser, thicker
. It's gaslight, not neon now that flickers
But you could probably get a decent pint of bitter
The working girls are still around
They look even dirtier, more worn down
Money for Gin, not crack must now be found
But still the sordid beat they pound
Suddenly, the mist it clears
The smell of horseshit disappears
You were there for a minute, now you're back here
Now you slowly walk back home, shaking with fear
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