Unpublished Critics (Remastered)

Well I'm a shy romantic with my eyes on the loose I'm in a overcoated way A poet in a garret You know some people say Standing at the barline with my lip on the curl I'm with the other lean and lear My finger on their pulse And my hand around a beer Ah, ahh, well I don't wanna know what's going round here Ah, ahh, it's just a matter of time, hold it under light Ah, ahh, I got to get away, to get away, to get away The singer in the band, you know he sweat on a pose And he's really such a jerk Thinks he can call me stupid Because he gets a lot of work I'm standing in the background, got my arms on the fold And every dog's gonna have it's day The New Musical Express and my own four-way P. A. Ah, ahh, well I don't wanna know what's going round here Ah, ahh, it's just a matter of time, hold it under light Ah, ahh, I got to get away, to get away, to get away Well, I've been reading those biographies in paperback I've got a death-wish that I can't explain I've been working on the petulance And the urchin took my name Ah, ahh, well I don't wanna know what's going round here Ah, ahh, it's just a matter of time, hold it under light Ah, ahh, I've got to get away, to get away, to get away Oh no I've got to get away No no no no No no I've got to get away