Saturday afternoon, August, Briggate. Warm and angry.
lyrics
It’s the summer when it hurts the most
When the dust feels close
When the old folks know
When a criminal is tied to a crime
And a mother’s tied to a space and a time.
Reality bites, and we can’t shape our plans
But then there’s people on the telly saying “Be your own man”
Well I had a dream where men weren’t called men.
But men are still called men, a curse is still a curse
You know history hurts, a word on a wing
But it’s cable strong, strong enough to pin you down
Whether it’s right or wrong
In other people’s lives I’ve been born and slain a hundred times.
We live in an age where we call poor people “chavs”
Well, if you give someone a brand at least it’s one thing they have
But I had a dream in which “chavs” weren’t called “chavs”.
Oh please, the city of Leeds, won’t you say something to me?
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