Hello, my chum
It's me and I'm banging on your door
It's been far too long
Since we set the leaves alight down on the floor
I've returned for a while 
To the concrete that once claimed my knees
And the stones my hands owned 
As I sent them toward windows and trees
Towering trees 
Towering trees
There are bangers in the wheely bins
Laser pens shone through the glass
And BB after BB fired 
From behind the wall beyond the grass
And though boots met my face 
And knuckles cracked me black as coal
I care not for the mindless 
Who poked fear at my sorry soul
My soul
My soul
And I miss the rain on the roof
Pitstop paths and whistling streams
I miss the cold stream chips
The red subbuteo team painted green
Built on back fields, 
It seemed a thorn in my child side
Instead became a grit-soaked playground
Where the propers and the poor collide
Oh, it might sound dull 
But dull's sometimes all we have
Yeah, it might sound dull 
But dull's all we ever have
Sometimes I talk with the meter 
Of a bingo caller's east-end drawl
Who cares; we're all just trying to float 
While everything seems set to fall
So hard
So hard