He likes to have The morning paper crossword down Forwards, backwards, twisted round He grabs a pile of letter's From a small suitcase Disappears into an office It's another workin' day
*	And his thoughts Are full of strangers Corridors of naked light And his mind Was full of reason Now there's more than meets the eye Oh a stranger's face It travels with him
He likes a bit of reading On the subway home A distant radio whistlin' tunes That nobody knows At home a house awaits him He unlocks the door Thinking once there was a sea here But there never was a door And his thoughts Are full of strangers And his eyes too numb to see There ain't nothing that he knows of And nowhere where he's been Whatever it wasn't like this [instrumental interlude] [repeat *] And the heart is full of strangers Dodging on his train of thought Train of thought Thought full of strangers...