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