David Bowie - A Small Plot of Land Lyrics

Poor soul
Spit upon that
Poor soul
He never knew what hit him
And it hit him so

Poor dunce
He pushed back the pig men
The Barbs laughed
The fool is dead

Poor dunce
He's less than within us
The brains talk
But the will to live is dead

And prayer can't travel
So far these days
The talk of your life
Standing so near
To innocent eyes, poor dunce

Swings through the tunnels
And claws his way
Is small life so manic
Are these really the days

Poor dunce
Poor dunce
Poor soul
Poor soul
Poor soul