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Hello, my chum
It's me and I'm banging on your door
It's been far too long
Since we set the leaves alight down on the floor

I've returned for a while
To the concrete that once claimed my knees
And the stones my hands owned
As I sent them toward windows and trees

Towering trees
Towering trees

There are bangers in the wheely bins
Lazer pens shone through the glass
And BB after BB fired
From behind the wall beyond the grass

And though boots met my face
And knuckles cracked me black as coal
I care not for the mindless
Who poked fear at my sorry soul

My soul
My soul

And I miss the rain on the roof
Pitstop paths and whistling streams
I miss the Coldstream chips
The red subbuteo team painted green

Built on back fields,
It seemed a thorn in my child side
Instead became a grit-soaked playground
Where the propers and the poor collide

Oh, it might sound dull
But dull's sometimes all we have
Yeah, it might sound dull
But dull's all we ever have

Sometimes I talk with the meter
Of a bingo caller's east-end drawl
Who cares; we're all just trying to float
While everything seems set to fall

So hard
So hard