guitarist in the subway
sings right near the train
dealing with the brake noise squealing
drowning his refrain
his mobile crowd
moves back and forth
inside the tunnel's jaws
the clatter of the turnstile
becomes the boy's applause

no radio no tv no gunshots no sound
policeman's cars are muted
some seven stories down
some white noise some breathing
the heart will gently pound
we lovers isolate our souls inside this quiet town

you wouldn't think
they knew that we're alive
we're just the ghosts of st george's drive

a wonder why it always seemed
like somehow we imposed
a dime for every time they told us
sorry but we're closed
it drizzles down in chinatown
when we hit ming siam's
could you provide a place inside
for these two holograms

chorus

would someone please announce
that we've arrived
here come the ghosts of st george's drive

and from this hotel window
we view the road below
the traffic's light on this wet night
and vacancy's aglow
the tower chimes eleven times
and barely makes a sound
while lovers mesh in pale flesh
inside this quiet town

a juggler on his blades
a fat man with his cane
almost break each other's path
but both of them refrain
the man, he keeps on walking
the juggler keeps on rolling
they tip their hats to a young au pair
whose carriage keeps on strolling
and not a word was spoken