no falling chimes, no call to arms,
no siren whines, no false alarms,
down the telephone lines
at the side of the farms
arm in arm, down hemlock row
where the flowers of evil... never grow
under one heartbeat, heavy but slow
walking together in the purple snow

charming breezes, bring the rain
it's gonna run like rats down the gutters and the drains
it's gonna run like a river
down the window panes
down a web of cracks, like twisted veins
a stranger... calls my name

between the rollerama and the junk yard
where the panorama looks like Mars
and the belladonna looks like stars
behind the Panamanian bars
in the dying gardens... down below
walking together in the purple snow.

LYRICS © JOHN COOPER CLARKE.