I've heard it all before-
Yes I can clearly see the beating of your wings
as you're standing in the door.
So will you dare this howling gale,
to some foreign shore go fly?
Cos I got the strangest feeling we've said our last goodbye.
Well you treasure secret pleasure and you share it with me,
but that don't mean that we're alright,
cos I've seen your back before, and you've seen mine even more
We were always just silhouettes in the night.
But can you give that little bit more of yourself?
And- can I?
Don't you have that funny feeling we've said our last goodbye.
As the farewells go, well this one was different to most,
emotionless and dry-
In a bitter rancid air it was hard to say you care,
and eye would not meet eye.
No tears to right the lies, no talking;
Just a silent pain inside-
It's because we didn't say it, this is our last goodbye.
Don't you have that funny feeling, that was our last goodbye.
bought it when I was seventeen
for thirty five pounds.
I nursed it from its misery
got it back on the road-
Drove it round my neighbourhood
like I was someone to know.
But like all great lovers
one of us had to go-
and when I lost my first love,
Oh it hurt me so.
My second love, was a guitar
I was no Bob Dylan, but
I tried real hard.
I played all through the day,
sometimes into the night-
and my imaginary audience
cried ' man, you're alright!'
But like all great love affairs
it had to end you know;
and when I lost my second love
Oh it hurt me so.
My third love, was a dog
we met one rainy day,
Two strays in the park.
He followed me home that day,
the bond between us grew-
we were inseperable
in everything we'd do.
But like all those love stories,
it had to end in woe-
And when I lost my third love
oh it hurt me so.
My fourth love, well I guess was you-
two different kinds of people,
niether had a clue.
You wanted a brand new car,
you were allergic to my dog,
and how you hated my guitar playing,
I had to get rid of the lot-
So like all great lovers
one of us had to go-
and when I left my fourth love,
did it hurt me- No!
and its hard to justify the fact that you've no more words to give her.
And what is there to say now? The moments quickly passing-
a sudden sense of opportunity lost to keep the conscience guessing;
And the mess it grows around you, and soon it will consume you,
like your stuck in a pile of autumn leaves, sentiment deludes you-
And memories they fool you, as her ghost it takes possesion
and you can't deny it for inside you know you must learn her like a lesson..
For shes the kind of girl who songs are written about.....
And her friends they all will tell you, they don't hear from her that often,
they say she's living up north somewhere with some guy that she's been seeing.
And she's invisable and distant, and she leaves you world- weary
and the poison she left inside you turns your vision cold and bleary.
For shes the kind of girl who songs are written about,
who you couldn't live with now you cannot live without
the kind of girl who songs are written about.
everything is bright now.
Got a few skins but no tobacco
nor ever e'en a light now-
My bed is hard, as hard as they come
don't think I've washed for weeks
You can tell by the colour of my cheeks
that..
It looks a lot like I've
alot to be regretted-
So I stumble through the streets at night
down and feeling wretched.
My eyes once keen and strong are now permanently dilated;
I see you smell my breath, alchole satiated-
I know you knew me once a long long time ago
before I came here from my home in Morroco, now....
People come and people go, some kind, some just see a rag...
I've had the odd few fights, fight's!- more like I'm a punch- bag!
And if you give me a rolly then you're a very very nice man,
and for 50p I will shake you by the hand, cos.......
I've only been here a year, got on the train from London.
And I've been in Paris to and in Rome and in some place other.
And each time I move on I stay longer every time,
so maybe this is the end of the line, when....
with all the knocks in life,
I was easily bested
So I stumble through the streets tonight
down and feeling wretched.
sometime in 1985.
Just as the sun began her sleeping
we would rush to get inside.
And there'd be greetings at the doorway
and past the hat-stands in the hall;
and there were buiscuits in the kitchen
and there were paintings on the wall.
Fifteen years, its only fifteen years
those were the best days,
And in the freshness of a springtime,
parked the Land-Rover out the back;
talked with snooker on the tele,
listned to the Liverpool match.
And there was Ice Cream in the freezer
Scent of Bacardi in the air.
And there was football in the playground
It was onl yesterday Id swear, not..
Down through leafy lanes and farm buildings,
to where the wild deer browse
Beneath a sunny sky, a cottage
with mystery about the house...