I used to drive for a living Hairy arms fed the wheel through my palms Twitching feet made patterns on pedals Reflexes honed in a twice-failed test The pay man Lance kept me elastic-bound In the echelons of W1 Slim chance of the odd long journey Kept me clinging to him for too long Locked in a car all day Came home and worked on Children At Play I had no deal then but I had 50 blank tapes then in a bag waiting Held out for Beckett's bunch as the LTJ rejection letter flew in I knew it wouldn't be long before I wrote Carbon Cones Only last week, I noticed that the colours of the lights in my studio Are the same as the ones you conjure in my mind (Yellow and green, green pea green Cherry red and red and blue) When my Amiga reads from a disk You know the green fills the room And your long summer dress fills my mind My other jobs were none to speak of "Make a coffee for the man in Avid One" "Drop these lunches off then take this Betacam to a place on Dean Street" Most posts seemed to involve the lifting of heavy boxes Be they crates of soft drink or hyper-boring finance files A man of such small frame as I broke into several sweats a day Whilst failing to procure even the hint of any musculature improvement Heavy-lifting days are in the bin now, but I still dip into tempting Wearing the odd suit, attending the odd interview Subsidizing the drum programming you hear today Only last week I noticed that the colours of the lights in my studio Are the same as the ones you conjure in my mind (Yellow and green, green pea green Cherry red and red and blue) Just yesterday I was woken by a flashing of a light from my studio Confirming that this timestretch was complete Only last week, I noticed that the colours of the lights in my studio Are the same as the ones you conjure in my mind