A train ride to Tuesday

A platform far away

Scarlet shades of evening move clouds of grey

Awaking, arriving

The dirty station where

He passes crowds of people who don't see him there

Here's a desert island room

For a man who's cast away

Stranded in this home from home

>From his family

Far away

Home.

Well this is it

This is it

Is this my heart

I miss you with all my heart

This is not

Is this not

My home

One shoe-lace cardboard suitcase

One passport from the Queen

One room for a light bulb

Where no-one's been

Sticks and stones, my old bones

Not like nineteen fifty-four

Then the liked me fine

But not anymore

This empty room

Where he's marooned

With nothing left to say

But in the dark

He thinks of home far away

Home.

Well this is it

This is it

Is this my heart

I miss you with all my heart

This is not

Is this not

My home

I feel cold, getting old

More than the climate's changed

Stranded on this island

The rate of exchange

Here's a desert island room

For a man who's cast-away

Today he will not be at work

There is no work anyway

How is it when you feel it

Do you wonder what gets you down

You're looking in the windows

When you walk this town