| Just behind the station, before you reach the traffic island, a river runs
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| through' a concrete channel
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| I took you there once; |
| I think it was after the Leadmill
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| The water was dirty
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| And it smelt of industrialisation
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| Little mesters coughing their lungs up
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| And globules the colour of tomato ketchup
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| But it flows. |
| Yeah, it flows
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| Underneath the city through' dirty brickwork conduits
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| Connecting white witches on the Moor with pre-raphaelites down in Broomhall
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| Beneath the old Trebor factory that burnt down in the early seventies
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| Leaving an antiquated sweet-shop smell
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| And caverns of nougat and caramel
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| Nougat
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| Yeah, nougat and caramel
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| And the river flows on
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| Yeah, the river flows on beneath pudgy fifteen-year olds addicted to coffee
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| whitener
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| I went there again for old time’s sake
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| Hoping to find the child’s toy horse ride that played such a ridiculously
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| tragic tune
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| It was still there — but none of the kids seemed interested in riding on it
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| And the cafe was still there too
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| The same press-in plastic letters on the price list and scuffed formica-top
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| tables
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| I sat as close as possible to the seat where I’d met you that autumn afternoon
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| And then, after what seemed like hours of thinking about it
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| I finally took your face in my hands and I kissed you for the first time
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| And a feeling like electricity flowed through' my whole body
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| And all the time, in the background, the sound of that ridiculously
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| heartbreaking child’s ride outside
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| At the other end of town the river flows underneath an old railway viaduct
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| I went there with you once — except you were somebody else —
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| And we gazed down at the sludgy brown surface of the water together
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| Then a passer-by told us that it used to be a local custom to jump off the
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| viaduct into the river
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| When coming home from the pub on a Saturday night
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| But that this custom had died out when someone jumped and landed too near to
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| the riverbank and had sunk in the mud there and drowned before anyone could
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| reach them
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| I don’t know if he’d just made the whole story up, but there’s no way you’d get
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| me to jump off that bridge
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| No chance. |
| Never in a million years
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| Yeah, a river flows underneath this city
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| I’d like to go there with you now my pretty «amp; |
| follow it on for miles «amp;
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| miles, below other people’s ordinary lives
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| Occasionally catching a glimpse of the moon, through' man-hole covers along the
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| route
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| Yeah, it’s dark sometimes but if you hold my hand, I think I know the way
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| Oh, this is as far as we got last time
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| But if we go just another mile we will surface surrounded by grass «amp; |
| trees «amp; |
| the fly-over that takes the cars to cities
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| Buds that explode at the slightest touch, nettles that sting — but not too much
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| I’ve never been past this point, what lies ahead I really could not say
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| I used to live just by the river, in a dis-used factory just off the Wicker
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| The river flowed by day after day
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| «One day» I thought, «One day I will follow it» but that day never came
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| I moved away «amp; |
| lost track but tonight I am thinking about making my way back
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| I may find you there «amp; |
| float on wherever the river may take me
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| Wherever the river may take me
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| Wherever the river may take us
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| Wherever it wants us to go
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| Wherever it wants us to go |