A train ride to Tuesday
A platform far away
Scarlet shades of evening move clouds of grey

Awaking, arriving
The dirty station where
He passes crowds of people who don't see him there


Here's a desert island room
For a man who's cast away

Stranded in this home from home
>From his family
Far away


Home.
Well this is it

This is it
Is this my heart
I miss you with all my heart

This is not
Is this not
My home


One shoe-lace cardboard suitcase
One passport from the Queen

One room for a light bulb
Where no-one's been
Sticks and stones, my old bones

Not like nineteen fifty-four
Then the liked me fine
But not anymore


This empty room
Where he's marooned

With nothing left to say
But in the dark
He thinks of home far away


Home.
Well this is it

This is it
Is this my heart
I miss you with all my heart

This is not
Is this not
My home


I feel cold, getting old
More than the climate's changed

Stranded on this island
The rate of exchange


Here's a desert island room
For a man who's cast-away
Today he will not be at work

There is no work anyway

How is it when you feel it

Do you wonder what gets you down
You're looking in the windows
When you walk this town