| Lyrics |
Everything clumsy slow-motion,I look for the source.
Buildings loom up like icebergson collision course.I don't want to go in there,I just want to be alone,unpick the stitches of timein Londonin the no-go zone.I've been kicking around like a dog,lost myself in the blank mass of fog,it's some kind of service.
All humanity's fall-out is there,slumped in doorwaysand mouthing cold air -I have heard this.
Fogwalking, fogwalking.
Since the curfewthe streets are half-dead,all the good folk asleep in their beds,it's so easy to go off the railswhen the fog sporesare breeding inside by head.
Fogwalking: there's a presence that I sense
Fogwalking: the neck muscles tense
Fogwalking: it's right here inside me,try to find a defense - oh, no.
Fogwalking through the wreckage,fogwalking through the worm-eaten
Night Apple,fogwalking through what used to be
Whitechapel.
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