| Mary paced the street again
|
| She always made her mark and yet
|
| She’s got the same regrets
|
| As any other in her town
|
| Michael walked the street again
|
| The seventh time he
|
| Trawled these lands this weekend
|
| Still he had
|
| A thought that he could never shake
|
| Was this right
|
| Is this world so full of hate
|
| I wanted to say
|
| Pacing down the street again
|
| A briskly-striding silhouette
|
| He’s walking with the same regret
|
| As every other villain does
|
| And it’s true we are filled
|
| With grief and pain
|
| I wanted to say
|
| That what you do is only on your own conscience now
|
| Life is not a series of your own photographs
|
| Thousands made the protest march
|
| They thought they were so strong
|
| And yet they’ve got the same regrets
|
| As any other pitchfork-wielding mass
|
| We are all criticised for vacancy
|
| I wanted to say
|
| That we can all be occupied
|
| By regrets and foolish hate
|
| We all are the same
|
| And the rebels closed
|
| After years it was time to pretend
|
| I wanted to say
|
| This is not the end
|
| If you want to change
|
| Racing through the streets again
|
| They all race worried for their hurt
|
| And yet they’ve got the same regrets
|
| As any other who has salt on their tongue
|
| Who has lines on their face
|
| I wanted to say
|
| I wanted to say
|
| But you should have seen this coming
|
| Life is a process
|
| Hey |