When the feeble rears its ugly head And the light refuse the shine Put your shoulder to the rock And remember better times Broken fingers talk They grasp at straws Thought I heard a voice in there There's no one there at all Oh, what have we done To come to this? Huddled on some foreign shore Standing the abyss Wake up in the afternoon It's so hard to leave the bed When you look up from the mud You get kicked right in the head Broken fingers talk They tell us what to do Guess I'll go out for a walk It must be after two Underneath gray Belgian skies The ground is slick and wet There must be some place else to live