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Half a mile to the iron turnstile and you're swept into the herdThis is the trickster's instinct, this is the bitch's creedCaught in the crush, you jostle and push, 'til the coppers give the wordThrough the gate in a crazy late stampedeStand by yourself as your ribs break and you suffocateLike soldiers in the trenches, like chickens in the penStand by yourself, shut your fucking prattle mateJust sing your song, you'll never walk againRiding the train in the fine spring rain, off to the city lightsHiding behind your paper, checking the latest price But the driver's working round the clock, it's old and battered rolling stockYou're heading up the junction and tearing out of sightStand by yourself as the engines crash and the windows smashCrawl on the ceiling, cling to the racks, make for the open airStand by yourself, bodies laid out on the grassKneel and whisper in their ears and tell them how you careSummer in the city, terror in the airThey went to hunt some desert rats, but now they're crawling over hereSend for the real Inspector Hound, there's trouble on the undergroundMind the gap before you disappearStand by yourself as the hands slip and the packs blow upLetras de cancionesPeople turn to effigies and still the cold eyes stareStand by yourself, see the sights from an open topSalute the pregnant torso in the squareYou're growing old and sick now, you're a burden to your wifeThere are things they need to fix now under the surgeon's knifeBut as you dream beneath the mask, invisible armies are on the marchThey're digging trenches in your flesh and threatening your lifeStand by yourself, they say one leg is better than noneBut now you haven't any it's not much use to youStand by yourself, it's all about the resistance, sonLittle for the many, plenty for the fewStand by yourself as chickens all come home to roostFalling with the fever, burning on the pyreStand by yourself, ladies and gentlemen drink a toastTo those who feed the flames, and those caught in the fire. From Letras Mania