it s a chilly english winter and solitude is never easy to maintain except when it rains so i hang an empty smile beneath my empty eyes and go out for a walk the wet morning sun reflects off the paving stones while a little dog barks its head off in the distance oh what a perfect day to think about myself my feet are firmly screwed to the floor what is there to fear from such a regular world oh what a perfect day to think about myself my feet are firmly screwed to the floor what is there to fear from such a regular world passing by a cemetery i think of all the little hopes and dreams that lie lifeless and unfilled beneath the soil i see an old man fingering his perishing flesh he tells himself he was a good man and did good things amused and confused by life s little ironies he swallows his bottle of distilled damnation oh what a perfect day to think about myself my feet are firmly screwed to the floor what is there to fear from such a regular world oh what a perfect day to think about myself my feet are firmly screwed to the floor what is there to fear from such a regular world people turn around with unseeing eyes they re looking for something that doesn t exist the world you once knew is being eaten up by rust no one has time for the past but still in god they trust the future is now but it s all going wrong bodies good for nothing but it s to nothing they belong people say their prayers and some work hard if you give them all your money they ll give you their hearts this town ain t going like a ghost town it s going like hell 