I used to drive for a living, hairy arms fed the wheel thorough my palms
Twitching feet made patterns on pedals, reflexes honed in a twice-failed test
The pay man Lance kept me elastic bound in the echelons of West One
Slim chance of the odd long journey kept me clinging to him for too long
Locked in a car all day, came home and worked on Children At Play
I had no deal then, but I had fifty blank tapes in a bag waiting
I knew it wouldn't be long before I wrote Carbon Cones

Only last week, I noticed that the colours of the
lights in my studio are the same as the ones you conjure in my mind
(Yellow and green, green pea green, cherry red and red and blue)
When my Amiga reads from a disk you know the
green fills the room and your long summer dress fills my mind

My other jobs were none to speak of: "Make a coffee for the man in Avid One
Drop these lunches off then take this Betacam to a place on Dean Street"
Most posts seemed to involve the lifting of heavy boxes
A man of such small frame as I broke into several sweats a day
whilst failing to procure even the hint of any musculature improvement
Heavy-lifting days are in the bin now, but I still dip into tempting
Wearing the odd suit, attending the odd interview
Subsidising the drum programming you hear today

Only last week, I noticed that the colours of the
lights in my studio are the same as the ones you conjure in my mind
(Yellow and green, green pea green, cherry red and red and blue)
Just yesterday I was woken by a flashing of a
light from my studio confirming that this timestretch was complete

Only last week, I noticed that the colours of the
lights in my studio are the same as the ones you conjure in my mind