| When I was a boy I could fly |
| I mean I really, really, really could fly |
| I"d stand on the stairs |
| And down and down I"d go |
| Up above every step |
| And suddenly these memories are my thoughts |
| As the Oxford Street I walk |
| Rages on |
| And I push my way deep into the crowds |
| Like a bullet into a cloud |
| And the pinstriped angels cry |
| Like trumpets in the sky: |
| Hey do you feel good? |
| Do you feel fine most of the time? |
| Hey do you want more? |
| Well jump in your coat |
| And walk through that door |
| That door |
| When I was a boy I could fly |
| I mean I really, really, really could fly |
| I"d stand on the stairs |
| And down and down I"d go |
| Up above every step |
| And suddenly these memories are my thoughts |
| As on Oxford Street I walk |
| Raging along |
| Was it a dream? |
| Was it a scene in a play |
| Sent down by a cathode ray? |
| And the pinstriped angels cry |
| Like trumpets in the sky: |
| Hey do you feel good? |
| Do you feel fine most of the time? |
| Hey do you want more? |
| Well jump in your shades |
| And walk through that door |
| That door |
| Hey do you feel good? |
| Do you feel fine most of the time? |
| Hey do you want more? |
| Well smash up your phone |
| And walk th |
| rough my door |
| I said |
| Hey do you feel good? |
| Do you feel fine most of the time? |
| Most of the time |
| Most of the time |