Wasting away the better part of the day
In the bus on the docks of the UK
We walked down the street on that all Hallows Eve
But couldn't wait to get back to the US of A
The torture of eight days straight
Without sight of your face is so frightening
Hoping to make it straight
Or find signs of a bite that won't fade like poison
In London we played half an hour a day
For a house full of neds who are wanting us dead
In Glasgow and Leeds we find signs of relief
An escape from our grief with a fistful of E's
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