| You stop in the old cafe where you used to play pinball
|
| And look for the air-raid shelter but it’s gone and the cafe seems so
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| Small and all the gardens that had trees and stolen apples
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| Now have small businesses flourishing in cinder blocks
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| Then they will call your name and hand you a gold watch
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| Then they will call your name but it doesn’t sound like much
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| And you’ll never discover why it’s like an old lover
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| You can’t touch anymore It doesn’t mean much anymore
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| When you go back in time
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| Back in time
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| You head down to the local try to find a focal point
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| A scratch in the wallpaper but it’s all been wallpapered over
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| Down at the newsagents it’s all pornography
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| And you try to get high again but it’s like time-lapse photography
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| Then they will call your name and hand you a medal
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| Or something more practical like a whistling kettle
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| And it’ll test your metal Just try to keep grinning
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| Knowing that this feeling is indulgence worse than sinning
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| Trying to go back in time
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| Yeah
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| Photographs with a glossy finish letters lovers never finished
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| And there in a dusty drawer a necktie you once wore
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| And a girl you tried to court made you feel about two feet short
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| Where is she now today? |
| What would she have to say?
|
| Then they will call your name and hand you a pension
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| A bottle of pills that guarantee life extension
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| And give you a mention in the local boy makes good section
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| But all the old news is like print stains across your mind
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| When you try to go back in time
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| Yes all this old news is just print stains across your mind
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| When you try to go back in time
|
| Back in time
|
| Back, back in time |