Pure

Train heads down
To pure old London town
Hired help wait to close their mother's gates
Pure, pure

The conductor waves
At a saxophone being played
By the only man with two feet for his hands
Pure, pure

Standing there in the dirty greasy air
Charcoal fumes send me to my tomb
Pure, pure
Pure, pure

Train skips west
Leaves me feeling less
But wanting more
All-a all-a-aboard
Pure
All-a all aboard
Pure
All aboard



Credits
Writer(s): Dylan Allen
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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