Flying low on the midnight train What, pray tell, have you come to find at this hour At 34,000 feet from the walking plains Just a moonlit ride Through the dead of night 'Cause you know, my left foot is swelling But the tea is hot And that and the taste in my mouth Is really all I got Big boy, slow it down Did you really think That you could blow that place to the ground? Oh, big boy, think it through Did you really think That it was more than a room with a view? Going South on the Northern Line I've been collecting a harvest of drinks today So now I can sit back and enjoy the ride Below the streets at night I think I'm getting used to the light As all the stock of wheat and barley and grapes Falls into place right round the back of my mind Are you that surprised to find That putting tunes to your confusion Only makes it rhyme Well, it's gonna have to do For now It's gonna have to do