Well I can’t see the stars
because the pollution is quite bad
but I reckon they’re probably shining.
And I guess it’s pretty funny.
I guess it’s pretty sad.
I reckon I probably should of
said sorry if I had.
The nettles I used to know were here
that were my stick’s enemy
have gone away again.
So I guess we’d have to walk to find
a clearer patch of air.

It was a dull cold day.
The countryside was kind of grey.
we sat in the back seat
and we headed up the motorway.
And the sea will make mincemeat
out of you and me.
We struggle each day to the shore.
We are swept each day from our feet.
So we took a seat
and sirens came and filled up the street.
You made a few phone calls
and me and Frances made some tea.
And the sea will make mincemeat
out of you and me.
We struggle each day to the shore.
We are swept each day from our feet.
Time moves on.
The owners of this house are gone.
We packed it up,
we took it and we moved it on.
And the sea will make mincemeat
out of you and me.
We struggle each day to the shore.
We are swept each day from out feet.

Joggers in the rain over brick-built bridges
It used to be bad here,
now it is tame
and slowly creaking into the new phase.
There’s a place for you here.
Mournful mouth organ and mournful church organ
are swelling the wind.
Autumn leaves swept up into bin-bags.
Rough sleepers moved along.
There’s a place for you here.
Lines of old houses now for sale
are filling with torrential kisses and tears.
They’re dampening the walls and filling in the cracks
of those that lived here before.
There’s a place for you here.