Outside a Train roars, the clatter is deafening 
Louder than everything, drowns what you were saying 
And the Boys get on the back of that train 
Their clamour is deafening, It is louder than everything 
And they accept no warning 
And me in my brilliant red shirt 
And my shirt hangs open at the neck 
The Train is always passing through 
Male passengers turn their heads, following the passage 
of a beautiful Ducchess running from carriage to carriage 
And it ploughs through the city, and everyone rides the Train 
It ploughs a primal instinct to rail against better sense 
The Train is always passing through 
And me in my bloodstained shirt, my body hangs open at the neck 
It is always passing through, through me 
The bodies on the back of the train they stink of greedy sex 
Leave a trail of instinct and roses and things