Tekster: The Human League. Almost Medieval.

There's something in your soul that makes me feel so old
In fact, I think I've died about six hundred times
There's less of me now and more of me then
I'm moving back to the age of men
Jump off the tarmac

There's no stagecoach speed limit

Outside the office hangs the man on the gibbet

Soft lenses grow to glasses
Small world dimly seen through cataracts
Your program
Newspaper
So they say
Rumour spread by word of mouth
Jump onto the escalator

Press the button on the lift

Raise the dust on old stair carpets

Endless treads like waves of regret

Now it seems I'm going madder

Falling off this rotting ladder

Soft lenses grow to glasses
Small world dimly seen through cataracts
Jump onto the escalator

Press the button on the lift

Raise the dust on old stair carpets

Endless treads like waves of regret

Now it seems I'm going madder

Falling off this rotting ladder

Your program
Newspaper
So they say
Rumour spread by word of mouth
Jump onto the escalator

Press the button on the lift

Raise the dust on old stair carpets

Endless treads like waves of regret

Now it seems I'm going madder

Falling through this rotting ladder

There's something in your soul that makes me feel so old
In fact I think I've died about six hundred times
There's less of me now and more of me then
I'm moving back to the age of men
Jump off the tarmac

There's no stagecoach speed limit

Outside the office hangs the man on the gibbet

Jump off the tarmac

There's no stagecoach speed limit

Outside the office swings the man on the gibbet