歌词网

Summoned By Bells

	Took a little time
	to find the past
	to walk the roads
	we used to know
	that lead us home.
	Houses in terraced rows
	that crowd around
	the railway yard,
	just sidings now,
	all overgrown.
	Above the high fields
	clouds are grey and gold;
	it’s as good a place as anywhere.
	War came
	and fires were seen
	from 30 miles away;
	a city burned,
	they wait in line,
	out in the high fields,
	summoned by bells,
	church; school; factory; home.
	Along the London Road
	across the park at Spinney Hill,
	sledging in the snow,
	we had our scrapes and our fights,
	it was part of the deal.
	Time moved quickly then
	things were changing all around,
	the world came
	to this small world,
	over the hillsides and rooftops,
	different stories were heard.
	We moved on
	found a new place,
	we remembered the days
	of our younger lives,
	we moved on.
	Long years pass
	we walk the roads
	we used to know,
	carried with the
	rain that falls.
	A stone’s throw from the line
	some of the old places survive,
	a golden thread in time,
	a stream running down from the hills
	into the heart of the high fields.
	So come on now,
	you know it’s alright,
	those were the days of our younger lives.
	Early evening, midweek
	in a market town,
	walking down those
	same old roads
	we know.

	Took a little time
	to find the past
	to walk the roads
	we used to know
	that lead us home.
	Houses in terraced rows
	that crowd around
	the railway yard,
	just sidings now,
	all overgrown.
	Above the high fields
	clouds are grey and gold
	it' s as good a place as anywhere.
	War came
	and fires were seen
	from 30 miles away
	a city burned,
	they wait in line,
	out in the high fields,
	summoned by bells,
	church school factory home.
	Along the London Road
	across the park at Spinney Hill,
	sledging in the snow,
	we had our scrapes and our fights,
	it was part of the deal.
	Time moved quickly then
	things were changing all around,
	the world came
	to this small world,
	over the hillsides and rooftops,
	different stories were heard.
	We moved on
	found a new place,
	we remembered the days
	of our younger lives,
	we moved on.
	Long years pass
	we walk the roads
	we used to know,
	carried with the
	rain that falls.
	A stone' s throw from the line
	some of the old places survive,
	a golden thread in time,
	a stream running down from the hills
	into the heart of the high fields.
	So come on now,
	you know it' s alright,
	those were the days of our younger lives.
	Early evening, midweek
	in a market town,
	walking down those
	same old roads
	we know.