When I was a boy I could flynI mean I really, really, really could flynI’d stand on the stairsnAnd down and down I’d gonUp above every stepnAnd suddenly these memories are my thoughtsnAs the Oxford Street I walknRages onnAnd I push my way deep into the crowdsnLike a bullet into a cloudnAnd the pinstriped angels crynLike trumpets in the sky:nn“Hey do you feel good?nDo you feel fine most of the time?nHey do you want more?nWell jump in your coatnAnd walk through that door”nThat doornnWhen I was a boy I could flynI mean I really, really, really could flynI’d stand on the stairsnAnd down and down I’d gonUp above every stepnAnd suddenly these memories are my thoughtsnAs on Oxford Street I walknRaging alongnWas it a dream?nWas it a scene from a playnSent down by a cathode ray?nAnd the pinstriped angels crynLike trumpets in the skynn“Hey do you feel good?nDo you feel fine most of the time?nHey do you want more?nWell jump in your shadesnAnd walk through that door”nThat doornnHey do you feel good?nDo you feel fine most of the time?nHey do you want more?nWell smash up your phonenAnd walk through my doornI saidnHey do you feel good?nnDo you feel fine most of the time?nMost of the timenMost of the time