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