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Meet me on the wastelands - later this day, |
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We'll sit and talk and hold hands maybe, |
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For there's not much else to do in this drab and colourless |
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Place. |
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We'll sit amongst the rubber tyres, |
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Amongst the discarded bric-a-brac, |
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People have no use for - amongst the smouldering embers of |
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Yesterday. |
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And when or if the sun shines, |
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Lighting our once beautiful features, |
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We'll smile but only for seconds, |
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For to be caught smiling is to acknowledge life, |
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A brave but useless show of compassion, |
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And that is forbidden in this drab and colourless world. |
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Meet me on the wastelands - the ones behind, |
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The old houses - the ones - left standing pre-war - |
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The ones overshadowed by the monolith monstrosities - |
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Councils call homes. |
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And there amongst the shit - the dirty linen, |
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The holy coca-cola tins - the punctured footballs, |
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The ragged dolls - the rusting bicycles, |
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We'll sit and probably hold hands. |
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And watch the rain fall - watch it - watch it - |
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Tumble and fall - tumble and falling - |
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Like our lives - like our lives - |
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Just like our lives. |
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We'll talk about the old days, |
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When the wasteland was release when we could play, |
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And think - without feeling guilty - |
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Meet me later but we'll have to hold hands. |
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Tumble and fall - tumble and falling - |
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Like our lives - like our lives - |
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Exactly like our lives. |
