| There's no mistake, I smell that smell
|
| It's that time of year again, I can taste the air
|
| The clocks go back, railway track
|
| Something blocks the line again
|
| And the train runs late for the first time
|
| A pebble beach, we're underneath, a pier that's just been painted red
|
| Where I heard the news for the first time
|
| And all the friends lay down the flowers
|
| Sit on the banks and drink for hours
|
| Talk of the way they saw him last
|
| Local boy in the photograph
|
| Today
|
| He'll always be 23, yet the train runs on and on
|
| Past the place they found his clothing
|
| There's no mistake, I smell that smell
|
| It's that time of year again, I can taste the air
|
| The clocks go back, railway track
|
| Something blocks the line again
|
| And the train runs late for the first time
|
| Today
|
| And all the friends lay down the flowers
|
| Sit on the banks and drink for hours
|
| Talk of the way they saw him last
|
| Local boy in the photograph
|
| Today
|
| He's gone away |