| I brought you some francs from my travelling chest
|
| You’ll space me the thanks 'til you know I’m the best
|
| So come Hogmanay when love comes in slurs
|
| Resolutions I’ll make and you can label them «hers»
|
| We threw our hands up high, we nearly touched the sky,
|
| We clicked our heels and spat and swore
|
| We’d never let it die
|
| All those boy wonders
|
| Sold their medals when they saw this train
|
| Now this boy wonders
|
| When he’ll feel the fall of honest rain
|
| I came from high land where the hopefuls have to hesitate,
|
| Now this boy wonders
|
| Why the words were never worth the wait.
|
| I’m waiting, waiting,
|
| In pastel paper pink over grey
|
| We wrap, wrap, wrap and chuck, chuck away
|
| The poor excuse they peddle as their prose.
|
| Dry your tears, tie your tongue and you’re never sixteen
|
| And I’ll give you a glimpse of the hard and the clean
|
| And my travelling chest will be open to you
|
| And boy will you learn that you haven’t a clue.
|
| I even asked my best friend but he could not explain
|
| It hit me when I left him
|
| I felt the rain and called it genius,
|
| Called it genius.
|
| chorus repeat |