Everybody's pinching their guts Young lumps of lead, floating on the harbour They pick themselves up, now they're falling down again Big lumps of lead floating to fruition
La la la
Like tickets worn, sometimes stolen Like foreign languages, squashed into the ferry floor One ticklish kiss will kill the itch around our ankles And today moves in wave motion Tomorrow's failing in the bath And big lumps of lead, floating out to Pinchgut
And your eyes, watching this, they begin to cry Your eyes, one ticklish kiss, they begin to cry Your eyes, lumps of lead, they begin to cry
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