Deep down under the motorway
There's a sewer with a sound system churning away
The kind of stuff that'd make you come out in a rash
Until you're kicked out for stirring up
The beginnings of a backlash
And the line outside is longer than the dole queue
And it's pissing down
And no-one wants to be here more than I do
I need this like religion
I need this like a part of me missing
This dance
Is the last
Moment of movement
Something to prove we can dance
I can feel the sweat stick to my face
When there's nothing left to fear
But the thrill of the chase
And I can read your lips like a battered paperback
Like a gut-churning, page-turning, megalomaniac
I can hear the words lost on the dancefloor
Drip like scarlet beads from the jaws of a carnivore
And there they lie in a pool of saliva
There were nicknames and curse words
And backslang to die for
This dance
Is the last
Moment of movement
Something to prove we can dance
This dance
Is the last
Moment of movement
Something to prove we can dance
This dance
Is the last
Moment of movement
Something to prove we can dance
