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It was a husky chilly evening
You were taking out the trash
Those green green bottles rattling
In the belly of that bag
In your two strong hands
And the street was like a toothache
Just after the pills be kicking in
The wailing and the shouting from
Within the red brick jowls
Of your house at number ten
And I hear a clock a' ticking
In the feet of people getting off their rides
Folded in their faces like a patent holy book
A line for every wish that has died
A line for every wish that has died
And a big, bad organ was pumping
all the people and the sad
and your three-story longing
in the funnel of this street
and the endings you'd have had
Well the bottles, they be broken
fallen longnecks, dreamers of your dreams
and the the street lamp's fit for dying
and the gutter stumbles on
and shadows are all taller than they seem
And I hear the bones a' grinding
In the jaws of people waiting for their rides
Talking small in pantomimes taken in by rote
A line for every wish that has died
A line for every wish that has died
And I hear a clock a' ticking
In the feet of people getting off their rides
Folded in their faces like a patent holy book
A line for every wish that has died
A line for every wish that has died
It was a husky chilly evening
You were taking out the trash
Your two strong hands slipping from
The shoulders of that bag
Like the old thing laid to rest at last
