In Liverpool
In LiverpoolOn SundayNo trafficOn the avenueThe light is pale and thinLike youNo sound, downIn this part of townExcept for the boy in the belfryHe's crazy, he's throwing himselfDown from the top of the towerLike a hunchback in heavenHe's ringing the bells in the churchFor the last half an hourHe sounds like he's missing somethingOr someone that he knows he can'tHave now and if he isn'tI certainly am
Homesick for a clockThat told the same timesometimes you made no sense to meif you lie on the groundin somebody's armsyou'll probably swallow some of their history
And the boy in the belfryHe's crazy, he's throwing himselfDown from the top of the towerLike a hunchback in heavenHe's ringing the bells in the churchFor the last half an hourHe sounds like he's missing somethingOr someone that he knows he can'tHave now and if he isn'tI certainly am
I'll be the girl who sings for my supperYou'll be the monk whose forehead is highHe'll be the man who's already workingSpreading a memory all through the sky
In LiverpoolOn SundayNo reason to even remember you now
Except for the boy in the belfryHe's crazy, he's throwing himselfDown from the top of the towerLike a hunchback in heavenHe's ringing the bells in the churchFor the last half an hourHe sounds like he's missing somethingOr someone that he knows he can'tHave now and if he isn'tI certainly am