Title: In Liverpool In Liverpool on Sunday No traffic on the Avenue The light is pale and thin like you No sound down in this part of town Except for the boy in the belfry He’s crazy he’s throwing himself Down from the top of the tower Like a hunchback in heaven He’s ringing the bells in the church For the last half an hour He sounds like he’s missing something Or someone that he knows he can’t Have now and if he isn’t I certainly am Homesick for a clock that told the same time Sometimes you made no sense to me If you lie on the ground in somebody’s arms You’ll probably swallow some on their history And the boy in the belfry He’s crazy he’s throwing himself Down from the top of the tower Like a hunchback in heaven He’s ringing the bells in the church For the last half an hour He sounds like he’s missing something Or someone that he knows he can’t Have now and if he isn’t I certainly am I’ll be the girl who sings for my supper You’ll be the monk whose forehead is high He’ll be the man who’s already working Spreading a memory all through the sky In Liverpool on Sunday No reason to even remember you now Except for the boy in the belfry He’s crazy he’s throwing himself Down from the top of the tower Like a hunchback in heaven He’s ringing the bells in the church For the last half an hour He sounds like he’s missing something Or someone that he knows he can’t Have now and if he isn’t I certainly am In Liverpool In Liverpool