Almost Medieval

There's something in your soul that makes me feel so old
In fact, I think I've died about six hundred times
There's less of me now and more of me then
I'm moving back to the age of menJump off the tarmac, there's no stagecoach speed limit
Outside the office hangs the man on the gibbet
Soft lenses, grow to glasses
Small world, dimly seen through cataractsYour program, newspaper
So they sayRumor spread by word of mouth
Jump onto the escalator
Press the button on the lift
Raise the dust on old stair carpetsEndless treads like waves of regret
Now it seems, I'm going madder
Falling off this rotting ladder
Soft lenses, grow to glassesSmall world, dimly seen through cataracts
Jump on to the escalator
Press the button on the lift
Raise the dust on old stair carpetsEndless treads like waves of regret
Now it seems, I'm going madder
Falling off this rotting ladder
Your program, newspaperSo they say
Rumor spread by word of mouth
Jump onto the escalator
Press the button on the liftRaise the dust on old stair carpets
Endless treads like waves of regret
Now it seems, I'm going madder
Falling through this rotting ladderThere's something in your soul that makes me feel so old
In fact, I think I've died about six hundred times
There's less of me now and more of me then
I'm moving back to the age of menJump off the tarmac, there's no stagecoach speed limit
Outside the office, hangs the man on the gibbet
Jump off the tarmac, there's no stagecoach speed limit
Outside the office, swings the man on the gibbet