Walked into swing doors Climbed in through dusty windows Walked in the dark museum Wandering in rambling green belts Fell into futures Lined up in dusty grey beam rows Slept on the tables Covered in gambling green felt But the place you have to find is not in sight When you take the road to cities of last night Laughed in the dark rooms Basins where the faces had flowered Danced in the lighthouse Grinning at seas under black foam Fell into mirrors Faces that time overpowered Prized open Parliament Places the inmates had outgrown But I came back home to pick up my beliefs And I found them trodden down in fields of grief Went through the records Lies that the reapers had planted Went down the river Past all the brief floating cases Tried hard to stop the crash Everyone took it for granted Passed by the front doors Went home holding on by the braces But the place you have to find is not in sight When you take the road to cities of last night