A-Ha

He likes to have the morning paper's
Crossword solved
Words go up words come down
Forwards backwards twisted round
He grabs a pile of letters from a small suitcase
Disappears into an office
It's another working day
And his thoughts are full of strangers
Corridors of nked lights
And his mind once full of reason
Now there's more than meets the eye
Oh, a stranger's face he carries with him
He likes a bit of reading on the subway home
A distant radio whistling tunes that nobody knows
At home a house awaits him, He unlocks the door