Told me love, / it's dark and cold... / where is the fuckin' sense of that / slow madness? / I'm running on a white line / made of cocaine, a suicidal train, / white like death / and broken sky. They want us! / They want to fuck our mind! / Take my hand so we can't lose tonight. / Is that the sense of love? I try... / We are still here, without fear, / fighting our chronic war / against all. I sit and sleep on the red bus... / And you will be / in front of me, / looking out on London streets, with the black souls / on the top of the rain. / That's enough for us. I don't care who they kill... / I love you and that's all, come on, go out for a tea.