The clouds are grey in White City
Pathetic fallacy theory
I still see the beauty pretty
But everyone in the place is seeing a different sunshine
The clouds are grey in White City
Pathetic fallacy theory
I still see the beauty pretty
But everyone in the place is seeing a different sunshine
Each of us is out here for ourselves
Each of us is out here for ourselves
The Queen will be fine, but God save the rest of us
People live and die, it's Heaven, Hell
People live and die, it's Heaven, Hell
The Queen will be fine, but God save the rest of us, oh
Everything's polluted
Even my brain, sometimes
Some days it's rose tinted
But I think here it's required
The clouds are grey in White City
Pathetic fallacy theory
I still see the beauty pretty
But everyone in the place is seeing a different sunshine
The clouds are grey in White City
Pathetic fallacy theory
I still see the beauty pretty
But everyone in the place is seeing a different sunshine
I got a different view to the forty-fifth level
Streets filled with strangers sith their own stories
Higher, you're flying, you'll come closer to seeing the cause
Concrete jungle never gets boring
Oh, they don't know me, I don't know them
That's just the way the cookie crumbles
I wonder if we'll ever meet when we're all six foot under
I wonder 'bout the people who've had stories just built over
I guess that's how it goes now that
Everything's polluted
Even my brain, sometimes
Some days it's rose tinted
But I think here it's required
The clouds are grey in White City
Pathetic fallacy theory
I still see the beauty pretty
But everyone in the place is seeing a different sunshine
The clouds are grey in White City
Pathetic fallacy theory
I still see the beauty pretty
But everyone in the place is seeing a different sunshine
Everyone in the place is seeing a different sunshine
Seeing a different sunsh-
Everyone in the place is seeing a different sunshine
Seeing a different sunshine
Everyone in the place is seeing a different sunshine
Seeing-ing
The clouds are grey in White City
Pathetic fallacy theory
I still see the beauty pretty
But everyone in the place is seeing a different sunshine
The clouds are grey in White City
Pathetic fallacy theory
I still see the beauty pretty
But everyone in the place is seeing a different sunshine