Somewhere in the grey grid of some disappointing suburb
Automatic sprinklers click dim lights begin to play
He shrugs into a rain grey raincoat as he locks a small grey house
The Inspector has begun another busy day
Watches as he goes and runs his fingers 'cross the railing
Sifts the dust and slowly walks away
Lights a cigarette and rubs the deep groove down between his eyes
The Inspector coughs and looks off, far away
Apprehension lurks in calm grey searching eyes
Which close as he sends out his mind into his land
Of motive and elusion the perpetrator's intellect
The Inspector never stops until the man is in his hand
In some absurd parody of some bright claustrophobic room
The throat clears, a flat voice asks the question once again
from a shadow hanging motionless behind a blinding light
The Inspector is the undisputed master of his game
He'll file that twist of dust away in some grey cabinet
Nothing's ever misplaced in his dessicated room
And as it were he sidesteps right outside of existence
The Inspector files himself away in dusks encroaching gloom
You can read an explanation of the origin of these lyrics here
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