A place where all the colours run. 

A place where every thought is joy 

an Albion. 

A place where love is free 

from all the maddening games 

you and I played, for kicks 

I’d dream a land of plenty 

but there are plenty of other places 

you’d much rather be 

and I’m tired of trying 

to raise a glass and a smile 

to the love we scrimp over. 

I’d love to see a place 

where all the colours run together 

you’d rather scratch away  

in the darkened alleys 

the lower the place you keep yourself 

the less height there is to fall