He likes to have the morning
Paper's crossword solved,
Words go up, word come down;
Forwards, backwards, twisted round.
He grabs a pile of letters
From a small suitcase,
Disappears into an office
It's another working day.

And his thoughts are full of strangers
Corridors of naked lights,
And his mind once full of reason
Now there's more than meets meets the eye,
Now a stranger's 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 to see
And nothing that he knows of
And nowwhere where he's been
Was never quite like this

And his thoughts are full
Of strangers, corridors
Of naked lights, and his mind
Once full of reason
Now there's more than meets the eye
Now a stranger's face he carries with hmi

And at heart he's full of strangers
Dodging on his train of thought
Train of thought.