The Road To Birmingham by Mott The Hoople
His feet lay heavy on the road that led to birmingham
Unseeing eyes, defeated cries, the mysteries of men.
Many hears, the helpless tears that leave the troubled
brow
A man once tall, he fought them, but he is older now.
For in your youth, you think the truth will always win
the game
Some men are kings, some men are rook, some men are
pawns to blame
But if your skin is coloured black, well the dice are
hidden in
The minds of fools who twist the rules, so you can
never win
Birmingham, birmingham, underneath your face
There's nothing but a space - you're hollow.
Unlighted sky, begins to cry, the shabby coat is weak
And homes with windows dressed in warmth, and mouths
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