Prospects — текст песни (Madness)

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