later on the northern line she'll freak about the lack of sky
so spill out in Victoria and hold her till she tells you why
you walk the surface of the moon, you can't see stars, the sun's to blame
the city lights on Oxford street make walking London just the same

waltz on the Central, Hammersmith and City dance
she's going mental and you haven't got a chance
of playing Perseus in this drunk romance

you must be quiet she's thinking even though her plane of thought has missed the landing strip
her train of thought is underground the map is yours but god knows what you'll make of it

and yes this is in monochrome, in super-8, she won't care less
besides the technicolor tones won't suit the patterns of her dress

she's made of space, Andromeda,
she's light years tall from star to star
she's metres tall Andromeda
she's senseless in a Soho bar

say there's no style for the 1990s
i think I'm chained somewhere in the 60s
locked to a look
london swings and I am westbound
she's looking good
another Friday night on the tiles with Andromeda
another Friday night running miles with Andromeda
another Friday night in the dock with Andromeda
another Saturday on the rocks with Andromeda