I guess we didn't make our dreams come true
And where our flowers bloomed now weeds grow tall
It's strange to think there is no me and you
I guess we're only human after all
I am the fluxing
structure that connects.
You and I are a universe,
Love is a dancing of very small things
Or river of madness without release -
A starburst of moments bounded by wings
Imagine yourself in a woodland scene
by the verge of an old winding lane;
and circled around islands of green,
oceans of leaves rustling in waves.
The mice, the mice, the mice,
are coming through the walls.
The dogs, the well trained dogs,
are bursting all the balls.
The lights are shining down upon broken stones and fishing boats
In the amber haze reflections reach for the night that’s crowding close
And on the hill the old hotel is watching over all
And I think I hear a voice I know
You never held your breath you said
You never promised that you would
and winter rolled down from the pole
I watched the flakes fall through the blind
We are the cherished BBC, a weel regarded company
We're known across the whole wide world for oor impartiality
For we've got ears and eyes ye ken, weel tuned to tell what's true
An' on Buchanan street that day there was nae trace of "yes" or blue
Snowflakes on your long blonde hair
we slipped and slid over icy ruts,
by the curve of soot stained tenements
long swept from Eldon street.
Between the work and vain ideals
there was a little envy too.
Those guys who seemed to know no fear
of girls: I envied what they knew,