| When a room becomes an altar | 
| And what beast that must exist | 
| It flies with music from our lips | 
| And steals a kiss and blows it out, into the mist | 
| Where castles stand on cliffs | 
| And cobbled streets they wind and drift | 
| And moods are made and set but shift | 
| This place where skies are low and birds are big | 
| We went to sleep in day | 
| And woke again the same day | 
| We have learned to cheat the time | 
| And find the hours that the clocks cannot define | 
| Now as I looked up from that stage | 
| I felt the thing that had been made | 
| And how it raged, and how it raged | 
| How to explain? | 
| Something makes me howl | 
| And shiver to the core | 
| Oh outside if it was raining | 
| Then inside there’d be a storm | 
| We’ve got a pair of hands for climbing | 
| And a pair of knees to spring | 
| And a pair of balls for strength | 
| And a pair of lungs to sing | 
| And these limp old chords | 
| That say: music is the language of us all | 
| To write these songs is to be written | 
| Ah the chorus always knows what is in store | 
| And what is more the thing that sings us | 
| Is the thing that makes us roar | 
| I felt that beast kiss on my neck | 
| We clapped our hands and heard them spread | 
| There was a trumpet and a call | 
| A pack of Spaniards screamed for more | 
| Music is the language of us all | 
| Music is the language of us all | 
| Music is the language of us all | 
| Music is the language of us all | 
| I find it hard to speak emotional | 
| Cause these things are the things that can’t be said | 
| And when it struck | 
| It strikes the memory from our heads | 
| Once I wrote two plays | 
| To be immortal for a night | 
| And despite the unknown hours | 
| Something happens when the light turns out the lights | 
| Then we fade and yawn | 
| To music that’s the language of us all |