3pm. Blue as a road sign, nWith a gag and some cheap winenSun's in my eyes between nThe smoke trails of aircraft, nThe kite tails and light shaftsnThere's a language in the skynThere are bonesnHiding under the viaductnSweeping down by the railway linenMaking wagers with the daynThere's a rumournDirty as a chimneystacknQuiet as roadkillnOn the northbound carriagewaynnAnd who's gonna raise a handnWhen all we were taught to do is dancenWho'll be able to stand after this avalanchennWell, they sold younBack your outragenIn a neat little shrink wrapnAnd a beautiful face and you thinknYou've found your purposenWell, they've been trailing the breadcrumbsnOf a water-tight casenSo you're shoutingnYou're shouting softlynSo no one can hear younAnd get the wrong ideanBut behindnThe closing eye of the tabloidsnWe will be waitingnAnd we'll say it clearlynn'Cause who's gonna raise a handnWhen all we were taught to do is dancenWho'll be able to stand after this avalanchenn3pm. Blue as a road sign, nWith a gag and some cheap winenSun's in my eyes between nThe smoke trails of aircraft, nThe kite tails and light shaftsnThere's a language in the skynThere's a language in the skynThere's a language in the sky