Give me more...SEVEN

We talk about love, we talk about dishwasher tablets, illness
And we dream about heaven
I know it, I think I know it from a hymn
They've said so, it doesn't need more explanation
A box to open up with light and sound
Making you cold
Very cold
I leave home at seven
Under a heavy sky, I ride my bike up, I ride my bike down
November smoke and your toes go numb
A new colour on the Globe
It goes from white to red, a little voice in my head says oh, oh, oh
I know it, I think I know it from a hymn
They've said so, it doesn't need more explanation
A box to open up with light and sound
And if you don't
You're on your own