Clocks Tick Louder at the Dead of Night

I made my way to New York city
To draw the routes of my self pity
It's like I'm in my favourite film
It's just a minor part but still

It's like it's ...
It's like it's ...
It's like it's ...
It's like it's not quite real

I pay the guy who can't work out
What to tell the girl and how
And in the end and turn and say
Of how I wish there was another way

I wish I'd never come
I wish I'd not become
Another love-sick kid or broken ...

I run the cliches through for real
I'll hold you in my arms until
I have to leave for my Bexhill
To document the way I feel

It's like it's ...
It's like it's ...
It's like it's ...
It's like it's not quite real

And though it was some time ago
It's only fair that I should let you know
That burst my heart and break the lines
But I'm a man who tends to run and hide

I wish I'd never come
I wish I'd not become
Another love-sick kid or broken ...