Haunted
The rain, falls on my head,
Runs down my collar, cold as lead,
The time on my hands,
Slips through my fingers, like sand.
What if the bus don't stop, if the bus don't come,
Then we'll walk, then we'll run.
Huge posters of smiling faces, stare blankly in the heat,
That leave me cold, on the sunny side of the street,
And holding up the corners, mad souls, of rag and bone,
Castles of cold night air, Soft beds of paving stone.
Cause I feel haunted
I feel haunted,
Truly, truly haunted.
The wind blows in my ear,
Ooh, ooh this time of year.
The rain, falls on my head,
Runs down my collar, cold as lead,
The time on my hands,
Slips through my fingers, like sand.
We'll take your car but if it's too much fuss
We won't wait, we'll take the bus.
What if the bus don't stop,
What if the bus don't come,
Then we'll walk, then we'll run.
