| He’s a twentieth century boy,
|
| With his hands on the rails.
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| Trying not to be sick again
|
| And holding on for tomorrow.
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| London ice cracks on a seamless line,
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| He’s hanging on for dear life.
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| And so we hold each other tightly,
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| And hold on for tomorrow.
|
| (Chorus)
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| Singing,
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| La, la la l-la. |
| La, la la, l-la l-la la-la-la.
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| La, la la l-la. |
| La, la la, l-la l-la la-la-la.
|
| La, la la l-la. |
| La, la la, l-la l-la la-la-la.
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| Holding on for tomorrow.
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| She’s a twentieth century girl,
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| With her hands on the wheel.
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| Trying not to be sick again,
|
| Seeing what she can borrow.
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| London’s so nice back in your seamless rhymes
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| But we’re lost on the Westway.
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| So we hold each other tightly,
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| And we can wait until tomorrow.
|
| (Chorus)
|
| (instrumental break)
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| We’re trying not to be sick again,
|
| And holding on for tomorrow.
|
| She’s a twentieth century girl,
|
| Holding on for dear life.
|
| And so we hold each other tightly,
|
| And hold on for tomorrow.
|
| (Chorus)
|
| (Jim stops and get out of the car, goes to a house in Emperor’s Gate,
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| Through the door and to his room and then he puts the TV on.
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| Turns it off and makes some tea, says Modern Life is Rubbish)
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| I’m holding on for tomorrow.
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| (Then Susan comes into the room, she’s a naughty girl with a lovely smile,
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| Says let’s take a drive to Primrose Hill, it’s windy there, and the view’s so nice.
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| London ice can freeze you toes, like anyone, I suppose)
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| You’re holding on for tomorrow. |