Invitations coming on the telephone From the concrete jungle, from a distant zone So we talk it over and decide to go There are children crying on the radio
They were people dancing on a night clear There were crying babies, there were morning tears When I heard you Mama I began to feel Irritation tearing at my souvenirs
Nightshift, Nightshift Nightshift, Nightshift
Invitations coming on the telephone From another station in a different zone In the silent evening you are ready to go There are children crying on the radio
Well the people come and then the people go And their face is melting on the video When I stared at you the wind began to blow And you never found what you were looking for