One O'Clock Whistle کے بول

In the distance, sirens Jump at this dead hour Wild-eyed, I am too much in the sun Willed beyond my power A little more than kin, straw sins In the rainy season Closed despite the sun A clarion to call me home My fingers going numb Every Monday, run away I�ll stand in these four corners Though hell itself should gape I'll cross it, though it blast me And walk right through the gate