Sunday - David Bowie

Here shall we live in this terrible town

Where the price for our minds

shall squeeze them tight like a fist

And the walls shall have eyes

And the doors shall have ears

But we’ll dance in their dark

And they’ll play with our lives

Like a Slow Burn

Leading us on and on and on Like a Slow Burn

Turning us round and round and round Hark who are we So small in times such as these

Slow Burn

Slow Burn

Oh, these are the days

These are the strangest of all

These are the nights

These are the darkest to fall

But who knows?

Echoes in tenement halls

Who knows?

Though the years spare them all

Like a Slow Burn

Leading us on and on and on Like a Slow Burn

Twirling us round and round

and upside down

There’s fear overhead

There’s fear overground

Slow Burn

Slow Burn

Like a Slow Burn

Leading us on and on and on Like a Slow Burn

Turning us round and round and round And here are we At the center of it all

Slow Burn

Slow Burn

Slow Burn