Rain on the brain Now there's flowers in your window She, oh, she's so strange I don't know anything about her If it's all the same to you Here's what I'm going to do I'm going to write a song And I'm going to sing it to everyone And then I'll sing it to you 'cos it was you that wrote it too This could be the last train
Search within yourself For feelings, everybody's got them You left me on the shelf And now there's no one to rely on If it's all the same to you Here's what I'm going to do I'm going to buy a gun And I'm going to shoot everything, everyone And then I'm coming for you 'cos it was you that drove me too This could be the last train
Rear window, with the room In her hair and on her jacket There's a picture in white of Che Guevara As he sits beneath the tree But that's not important But he looked a bit like me If you took all the little feelings in your heart And took all those little feelings all apart Oh now what's the point in doing all of that?