David Bowie - Small Plot Of Land

David Bowie - Small Plot Of Land Lyrics

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Poor soul
Spit upon that
Poor soul
He never knew what hit him
And it hit him so
Poor dunce
He pushed back the pigmen
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 thru 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