Νobody home-Run like hell by Pink Floyd.

I've got a little black book with my poems in
I've got a bag with a toothbrush and comb in
When I'm a good dog they sometimes throw me a bone in
I got elastic bans keeping my shoes on
Got those swollen hand blues
Got thirteen channels of shit on the TV to choose from
I've got electric light
And I've got second sight
I've got amazing powers of observation
And that is how I know
When I try to get through
On the telephone to you
there'll be nobody home
I've got the obligatory Hendrix perm
And the inevitable pinhole burns
All down the front of my favourite satin shirt
I've got nicotine stains on my fingers
I've got a silver spoon on a chain
I've got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains
I've got wild staring eyes
And I've got a string urge to fly
But I got nowhere to fly to
Ooooh Babe when I pick up the phone
There's still nobody home
I've got a pair of Gohills boots
But I got fading roots


Run Run Run Run Run Run Run Run
Run Run Run Run Run Run Run Run.
You better make your face up in
Your favorite disguise.
With your button down lips and your
Roller blind eyes.
With your empty smile
And your hungry heart.
Feel the bile rising from your guilty past.
With your nerves in tatters
When the conchshell shatters
And the hammers batter
Down the door.
You'd better run.

Run, Run, Run, Run, Run, Run, Run, Run,
Run, Run, Run, Run, Run, Run, Run, Run.
You better sleep all day
And run all night.
Keep your dirty feelings
Deep inside.
And if you're taking your girlfriend
Out tonight
You'd better park the car
Well out of sight.
Cause if they catch you in the back seat
Trying to pick her locks,
They're gonna send you back to mother
In a cardboard box.
You better run.

"Hey, open up! HaHaHaHaHaaaaaaaaaa!
[sound of car skidding, followed by loud scream]
"Hammer, Hammer