Rain ticks like clock hands
A wet time
And I'm feeling really flimsy
A page on the ground, a dumb sound
But I grow thoughts in the air
And strange flairs
Joker's POKEs, pocket jokes
And you think art is a craze
'Cause your hearts beat a frayed beat
Your machines don't make a soul
Matthew's gone to the next room
Outside it's still raining
And you ask me to stay
But this is not the nicest place
Matthew's gone to the next room today
I hear Lime Street's trains
In my head they come and go away
And the river Mersey flows
Matthew's gone to the next room today
