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Let's begin at the beginning |
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We're lovers and we're losers |
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We're heroes and we're pioneers |
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We're beggars and we're choosers |
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Skirting round the edges of the ideal demographic |
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We're almost on the guest list |
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But we're always stuck in traffic |
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We've watched our close associates |
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Often play their parts |
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Chatting up the "it" girls |
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And they're tearing up the charts |
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While we were paying with coppers to get our rounds in at the bar |
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We're the C team, we're the almost famous old friends of the stars |
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Justin is the last great romantic poet |
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He's the only one among us who is ever gonna' make it |
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We planned the revolution from a cheap Southampton bistro |
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I don't remember details, but there were English boys with Banjos |
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Jay is our St George and he's standing on a wooden chair |
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And he sings songs and he slays dragons and he's losing all his hair |
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And Adam is the resurrected spirit of Gram Parsons |
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In plaid instead of Rhinestone and living in South London |
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And no one's really clear about Tommy's job description |
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But it's pretty clear he's vital to the whole damn operation |
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And Dave Danger smiles at strangers, Tre's the safest girl I know |
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And sullen hearts will scamper off to victory in the City we call home |
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And we won't change our ways |
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We will proud remain, when the glory fades, when the glory fades |
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Yeah I am sick and tired of people who are living on the B-list |
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Yeah they're waiting to be famous, and they're wondering why they do this |
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And I know I'm not the one who is habitually optimistic |
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But I'm the one who's got the microphone here so just remember this |
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Yeah, well life is about love, lost minutes and lost evening |
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About fire in our bellies and about furtive little feelings |
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And the aching amplitudes that set our needles all a-flickering |
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And they help us with remembering that the only thing that's left to do is live |
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After all of the loving and losing, after all the heroes and the pioneers |
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The only thing that's left to do is get another round in at the bar. |
