Where's the nice people at my door?
Where's my night in Studio 54?
Childhood issues dug up by the press
Paparazzis down the alleyway
Don't you ever give in, make the best
And chase your most prophetic, wildest dreams
Then I'd get to be a king
And I'll later describe the pros and cons of
London city stardom way of life
To the Guardian or the Times
The night before some stranger wakes me up to say
You wish
You know I'd fly
To your mackerel sky
You know I'd fly
To your mackerel sky
Then I'd call my editor
She would get me out of this maze
I'm sorry sir, I can't find you in the database
How come? I've been a client since the Grammy?
Is this because I drank Capaldi's Buckfast tonic wine?
You know I'd fly
To your mackerel sky
You know I'd fly
To your mackerel sky
