John Wesley Harding - Dead Centre of Town

I live in the dead centre of town
Where every landlorn sailor comes to drown
Where great ideas extinguish without sound
And all my fickle friends have gone to ground
So they will not come round...
And you ask me what the problem is
I say it's obvious
And I'm not lying

I live in the dead centre of town
With one foot in the grave and one underground
Where clocks don't go no matter how they're wound
Boredom's king, unhappiness abounds And you ask me what the problem is
I say it's obvious
And I'm not lying
Our town is dying

I live in the dead centre of here
Where daughters treat their daddies like King Lear
Who says "death's a good career prospect, dear"
Where sinners burn in hell for half a beer
And you ask me what the problem is
I say it's obvious
And I'm not lying
Our town is dying