|
There's no mistake, I smell that smell |
|
It's that time of year again, I can taste the air |
|
The clocks go back, railway track |
|
Something blocks the line again |
|
And the train runs late for the first time |
|
A pebble beach, we're underneath, a pier that's just been painted red |
|
Where I heard the news for the first time |
|
And all the friends lay down the flowers |
|
Sit on the banks and drink for hours |
|
Talk of the way they saw him last |
|
Local boy in the photograph |
|
Today |
|
He'll always be 23, yet the train runs on and on |
|
Past the place they found his clothing |
|
There's no mistake, I smell that smell |
|
It's that time of year again, I can taste the air |
|
The clocks go back, railway track |
|
Something blocks the line again |
|
And the train runs late for the first time |
|
Today |
|
And all the friends lay down the flowers |
|
Sit on the banks and drink for hours |
|
Talk of the way they saw him last |
|
Local boy in the photograph |
|
Today |
|
He's gone away |
