He likes to have the morning paper's crossword solved
Words go up words come down, forwards, backwards twisted round
He grabs a pile of letters from a small suit case
Disappers into an office its another working day
Chorus:
And his thoughts are full of strangers,
corridors of naked lights
And his mind once full of reason,
Now there' more than meets the eye
Now a strangers face he carries with him
He likes a bit of reading on the subway home
A distant radio's whistling 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
Chorus:
And his thoughts are full of strangers
And his eyes too numb to see
And nothing that he knows of
And nowhere where he's been
Was ever quite like this
And his thoughts are full of strangers
Corridors of naked lights
And his mind once full of reason
Now there's more than meets the eye
Oh, a stranger's face he carries with him
and at heart he's full of strangers,
dodging on his train of thought