| Thought I had a degree of resistance
|
| But look at me, seeking assistance
|
| A neutral voice to talk to
|
| A room to walk to in the city
|
| With a painting of a mother, pretty
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| And another of a father in my eye line
|
| Forcing me to try to take stock
|
| To face up, wind back the clock
|
| Push down the fear
|
| Bring the summer ghosts near
|
| And when you look back you find you haven’t travelled far
|
| You thought you’d changed until reminded who you are
|
| And every piece of you that you volunteer
|
| Just brings the summer ghosts near
|
| My folks were just people with their own shit
|
| And god knows there was enough of it
|
| Wrapped up in themselves
|
| Jazz on the shelves
|
| It’s how you deal with it
|
| How not to make a meal of it
|
| I watch the dark come, then let it go
|
| I can be the Zen master, I know
|
| Though it’s easier when you’re shot of it
|
| As opposed to when there’s really quite a lot of it
|
| And when you look back you find you haven’t travelled far
|
| You thought you’d changed until reminded who you are
|
| And every piece of you that you volunteer
|
| Just brings the summer ghosts near
|
| Just brings the summer ghosts near
|
| This is Spring Bank where I walked years ago
|
| Welcome to a world I used to know
|
| Now it’s clearance sales
|
| Saturday hair and nails
|
| Loans and help with debt
|
| Flats over shops to let
|
| Up goes the Hilton
|
| On the corner of Ferensway
|
| The first for a long time
|
| It feels like yesterday
|
| Hard blows the easterly
|
| My grandad was born here
|
| Out on the Anlaby Road
|
| And when you look back you find you haven’t travelled far
|
| You thought you’d changed until reminded who you are
|
| And every piece of you that you volunteer
|
| Just brings the summer ghosts near
|
| Brings the summer ghosts near
|
| Past the Land of the Green Ginger
|
| Through Hepworth’s Arcade
|
| Past the Land of the Green Ginger
|
| Down Whitefriargate |