Those who are near you are far away
Along by the dirty old river we walk and talk,
Talking of everything, life, what it takes,
And never gives back.
We resurrect the past,
Fifty years and more; hoping for the best,
Prepared for nothing, getting by, day-to-day,
When the living is easy.
Wanting so desperately to own a scooter, a motorbike.
And our mothers still young
With pinnies and curlers,
Fathers with hands never free
from engine oil and swafega.
And everybody smoking.
Running to the shops for ten Players for mum.
And dogs free of leads, kicked out in the morning,
playing havoc with the traffic.
And jobs for the boys, cash-in-hand,
And buying her a lager and lime
As we sit comfortably under-age,
No questions asked, in the Unicorn or Red Lion.
And all in a drift of time,
For the magic was running out quick.
And , even then, we knew it.