You know I’ve walked a twisted mile where even fools, they don’t want to go. From the gut of a Glasgow shrine where even preachers can’t find a soul. Where even schemers can’t get a roll. Where even dead men don’t want to know. Talkin’ why.
You know I’ve walked a twisted mile of every stripe of every sickening hole. From the bottom of a Brixton mine, I heard the cry of her lost soul. You know this world is cut full of crime. I even failed my punk rock & roll. Talkin’ why.