Clocks Tick Louder at the Dead of Night

I made my way to New York city To draw the routes of my self pity It's like I'm in my favourite film It's just a minor part but still It's like it's ... It's like it's ... It's like it's ... It's like it's not quite real I pay the guy who can't work out What to tell the girl and how And in the end and turn and say Of how I wish there was another way I wish I'd never come I wish I'd not become Another love-sick kid or broken ... I run the cliches through for real I'll hold you in my arms until I have to leave for my Bexhill To document the way I feel It's like it's ... It's like it's ... It's like it's ... It's like it's not quite real And though it was some time ago It's only fair that I should let you know That burst my heart and break the lines But I'm a man who tends to run and hide I wish I'd never come I wish I'd not become Another love-sick kid or broken ...