Arcadia

Lord Byron waited in silence
He was a fan of taxidermy
On patrol with a silver blunderbuss
Aimed at the brass foundry
And night train from the jukebox was playing out
From a coffee bar down on New Bond Street
But it’s drowned out by the sound of the merry go round

Hey, hey, get off the carousel now
Hey, hey, speak what’s on your mind
The saints are screaming out for tomorrow’s clowns

Ada Lovelace sick of the rat race
Made her way to the Queens Club
Wouldn’t let her in on account of her heartstrings
But stronger stuff she’s made of
She set sail to find Arcadia to find peace from societies sorrow
But turned back when she found it was pissing it down

Hey, hey, get off the carousel now
Hey, hey, speak what’s on your mind
The saints are screaming out for tomorrow’s clowns
Freedom knows her own chime
She was born in plain sight
On the road to minds eye

Hold back your loaded love
I’ll meet you out in the morning sun
By the British Union Shoe Machinery Company doors