I walked alone to see the sad scene unfold
They were there beneath the ground
With their hands sticking out
Like little trees reaching for the sun
Reaching for the old days all gone
I found a grave and I lay down
And let the soil fall around
Your wayward dad in the empty light you had
Once in a dream beneath the wrapping paper trees
He sung you a song and played a violin along
He was brave
He was strong
He was there and he was gone
We should all be making pilgrimages to Scarborough to conduct candle light vigils to 4 track ghosts, failed bands and the bones of the odd Bronte or two. Like Britpop never happened, thank God. Did William Blake go to the seaside to take the waters? I don't know, but if he did he was writing these songs. Vital pop dust and hidden shoe box tape operas. AB
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