He likes to have the morning paper's crossword solved Words go up words come down, forwards, backwards twisted round He grabs a pile of letters from a small suit case Disappers into an office its another working day And his thoughts are full of strangers, corridors of naked lights And his mind once full of reason, Now there' more than meets the eye Now a strangers face he carries with him He likes a bit of reading on the subway home A distant radio's whistling tunes that nobody knows At home a house awaits him, he unlocks the door Thinking once there was a sea here but there never was a door And his thoughts are full of strangers, and his eyes too numb too see And nothing, that he knows of, and nowhere where he's been Was never quite like this Repeat chorus 1 Ending: and at heart he's full of strangers, dodging on his train of thought (to fade)