Vanishing Point

His soul made him pick up the pencil again
And some say the English are very cold fish
But when humour does not touch your life anymore
He knows there is nothing for which he can wish.

Bright lights, big city will never thrill him again
And the funny side of things holds no more appeal
With double the dreaming but none of the meaning
He no longer laughs for he no longer feels.

His soul made him pick up the pencil again
And some say that it is just English reserve
But when all hope has vanished then all he can manage
Is where the sky, the sea and the light just converge.