(Ian Hunter)



His feet lay heavy on the road that led to Birmingham

Unseeing eyes, defeated cries, the mysteries of men.

Many hears, the helpless tears that leave the troubled brow

A man once tall, he fought them, but he is older now.



For in your youth, you think the truth will always win the game

Some men are Kings, some men are rook, some men are pawns to blame

But if your skin is coloured black, well the dice are hidden in

The minds of fools who twist the rules, so you can never win



Birmingham, Birmingham, underneath your face

There's nothing but a space - you're hollow.



Unlighted sky, begins to cry, the shabby coat is weak

And homes with windows dressed in warmth, and mouths that never speak

His mind is dead, his visions spread that pass before his feet

And thankfully he wears that dream that shields him from the street



Goodnight my friend, this is the end, you'll never cry again

You'll never have to smile away the bastards and the pain

Is it too late, or can you wait to take another turn

And walk together down that road that leads to Birmingham



Birmingham, Birmingham, underneath your face

There's nothing but a space - inside you.



Birmingham, Birmingham, underneath your face

There's nothing but a space - you're hollow.