It's a numbers game
I've got a record of a dull day
Sat filling up, filling up a hard drive
The dark arts of getting lost In a machine hum
The sound of a thousand muted guns
All I can do is talk
All I can do is talk
I've probably never had an original thought
A numbers game
A dead phonebook does a balancing act
On a spinning plate
The screen is my half brother
Just another, just another
When the desert is ground to dust
Always steal what can't be won
Pablo said, and he's never ever ever ever wrong
All I can do is talk
All I can do is talk
Well I thought we're getting closer but we're further apart
Fortunate son
Leading from the back
A dead type in an old press pack
Well who owns the Sky?
Well who owns Sky?
Well you never, you never saw it coming
Walking at ya, looking straight backwards
All I can do is talk
All I can do is talk
I thought we're getting closer but we're further apart
Well you're well-fed, in a welfare way
All I can do is talk
All I can do is talk
My God! I've never had an original thought