This Dance

Deep down under the motorway There's a sewer with a sound system churning away The kind of stuff that'd make you come out in a rash Until you're kicked out for stirring up The beginnings of a backlash And the line outside is longer than the dole queue And it's pissing down And no one wants to be here more than I do I need this like religion I need this like a part of me missing This dance Is the last Moment of movement Something to prove we can dance I can feel the sweat stick to my face When there's nothing left to fear But the thrill of the chase And I can read your lips like a battered paperback Like a gut-churning, page-turning, megalomaniac I can hear the words lost on the dancefloor Drip like scarlet beads from the jaws of a carnivore And there they lie in a pool of saliva There were nicknames and curse words And backslang to die for This dance Is the last Moment of movement Something to prove we can dance This dance Is the last Moment of movement Something to prove we can dance This dance Is the last Moment of movement Something to prove we can dance