Early in the morning, just after dawn Baby's posing around the lawn Because it's quiet at the moment And the world is hers She has responsibility for that obscure freaking sound of the old milk float She adds a postscript to the letter she wrote Saying "City living takes it out of me - Won't you send me a sachet of sanity" Sits with a pile of magazines Her face is falling apart at the seams Looks pretty awful But she says she dreams of some land But dreams get frozen pretty fast around here Choked by the suffocating atmosphere Nothing ever seems to be really clear Living in the urban slum land In spite of the heaviness of her heart She claims that her life is killed by art And no reality shot will spoil it D.H. Lawrence in the downstairs toilet See pictures on the bathroom wall You could swear you could hear the curlews call The kindly fisherman drags his net Goldfish in a bowl in a stereo cassette But I bet you deny her methodical grace Keeps every fantasy filled in its space But still has a vision she could leave this place For some land A Dorset coast is where she would rather lie With a chorus of gulls serenading the sky As she watches the unemployed sail by Living in an urban slumland Radical solutions didn't get very far The past disappears like a falling star And now she follows the normal rule A time warped fossil of the social school But one day a letter came through her door Mailed by a lover from '64 Saying "Come along to the coast with me, I'm setting up a communal fantasy" 1 o'clock she is watching the rain 2 o'clock she is running for a train At 9 o'clock she is home again With shaking hands Because Gerald was married with a house in Slough He had wanted to escape, fate wouldn't allow And now she wants to disappear somehow Away from the urban slum land There is a crippled note by the side of the phone Traditional excuses for being alone She's dressed in a white frock trimmed with lace Beaks and feathers all round the place The radio blares it's usual tune Bruckner comes from each part of the room