My heart grows cold and turns to stoneSit and I watch the 
sun sink, the city turns to gold
It tears my soul in two, I'm leaving here
I'm sick of all these words...
She was sixteen and chasing dreams
Took a trip to London town where she found out what self-
preservation means
Yeah, she's old somehow, she's wiser now

Than the people on the street where the rain pours down 
in streams
Just to wash away the dreams
Things turning sour, four quid an hour
Working down South Ealing, yeah well, she's stacking 
shelves all day
She's not the kind to shout, man she's breaking out
With the minimum of fuss she's jumped the nearest bus
Just a V-sign for the rest of us
I got your letter yesterday, the only words it said:
'My heart grows cold...'