Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
There was nowhere special to go
And so they drove round in circles
Hoping somehow to channel the flow
Of a night that's frozen in tempo
Slow, slow, slow