My heart grows cold and turns to stone
I sit and I watch the sun sink, the city turns to gold
It tears my soul in two, I'm leaving here
I'm sick of all these words
She was 16 and chasing dreams
Took a trip to London Town where she found out what self-preservation means
Yeah she's old somehow, she's wiser now
Than the people on the street
Where the rain pours down in streams just to wash away the dreams

Things turning sour, four quid an hour
Working down South Ealing, yeah, she's stacking shelves all day
She's not the kind to shout, man, she's breaking out
With the minimum of fuss she's jumped the nearest bus
Just a V-Sign for the rest of us

I got your letter yesterday, the only words it said: "My heart grows cold..."