lirik lagu we could have been heroes – george pringle
today the world is waking up. (repeated)
you said it felt like california walking down the
streets and your garden felt like france when i lay in
the cut gr-ss. the garden that two months ago was white
and shivering under snow. i stare up at your face from
behind sungl-sses. upside down your smiles pull frowns.
last night was one of the last suburban parties. the
great suburban parties. where we all spill out like
cards from sleeves and loiter the drive and p-ss on the
street. no magic here, though spring burns in, no magic
here. though spring burns in.
hootie was hung in the tree and hooting like an owl, a
drunken image sketched in leaves. he was wearing girls
clothes and the same old faces, turning pale are
haunting the garden and haunting my mind, a premonition
for some other time. this is last time i remember
thinking.
bands edged into corners near conservatories and
sweating walls, broken doors, smashed gl-sses and legs
lined up on sofas. boy, girl, boy, girl, boy, girl,
boy, girl. this is the last time, i remembered
thinking. that fabulous neglect for gl-sses, no cup, no
mug, no jug tooth rot all sucked from bottles and hoods
indoors pulled up. we’ll be investing in property and
drinking properly, this is all…this is all…a mental
bank.
my mental bank is overdrawn.
well, let’s think about may day, a year ago. last may,
when walking up through south park, the funfair was
waking up. my bl–dy valentine, my bl–dy valentine. my
bl–dy valentine, my bl–dy valentine. he’s no-one. he
isn’t yours or mine. my bl–dy valentine, my bl–dy
valentine. my bl–dy valentine, my bl–dy valentine.
he’s no-one. he isn’t yours or mine. my bl–dy
valentine, my bl–dy valentine.
sometimes, sometimes you cast a spell in my mind. my
bl–dy valentine, my bl–dy valentine.
you don’t have to work at hmv when you write so
beautifully. x3
sometimes, sometimes you cast a spell in my mind.
my bl–dy valentine, my bl–dy valentine.
sometimes, sometimes you cast a spell in my mind.
my bl–dy valentine, my bl–dy valentine.
you don’t have to work in h.m.v.
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