Elbow

They're pacing Piccadilly in packs again
And moaning for the mercy of a never come rain
The suns had enough and the simmering sky
Has the heave and the hue of a woman on fire
Shop shutters rattle down and I'm cutting the crowd
All scented and descending from the satellite towns
The neon is graffiti singing make a new start
So I look for a plot where I can bury my broken heart
No, I know I won't forget you
But I'll forget myself, if the city will forgive me
The man on the door has a head like Mars
Like a baby born to the doors of the bars
And surrounded by steam with his folded arms
He's got that urban genie thing going on
He's so mercifully free of the pressures of grace
Saint Peter in satin, he's like Buddha with mace
He's so mercifully free of the pressures of grace
Saint Peter in satin, he's like Buddha with mace