| Flight Paths |
You had me when I saw your shoes
Or trainers if truth be told
You had my heart the day I heard your footsteps near me
And every summer passed me by
The stairs to my apartment lacked excitement and style
Until I heard your footsteps with me
On the top deck of the 23
Through winter snow and autumn leaves
Our footsteps in sync
It's a beautiful thing, choreography
From the supermarket aisles to the dancefloors of provincial towns
I'd occupy my vacant hours just waiting for something
For every couple holding hands in the high street
You can bet your life
You'll only hear a single set of footsteps between them
On the platforms of the Central line
The beaches of a south coast town
Our footsteps in sync
It's a beautiful thing, choreography
Like the mischief hidden in your eyes
Or the retro clothes you always buy
I just hope I'll always hear your footsteps with me
Like the clutter in your kitchen
The same song you keep on whistling
I just hope I'll always hear your footsteps with me
On the top deck of the 23
Through winter snow and autumn leaves
Our footsteps in sync
It's a beautiful thing, choreography
Like the mischief hidden in your eyes
Or the retro clothes you always buy
I just hope I'll always hear your footsteps with me
Like the clutter in your kitchen
The same song you keep on whistling
I just hope I'll always hear your footsteps with me
We’ll take one step forwards and then two steps backwards…
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Hanging on for someone is quite addictive
When you gaze from high-rise windows
At the lights beyond the ring road and the social club
One girl’s perfection is another’s expectation
And the pureness of a moment always overstays its welcome
If I linger too long
I’m romantic by design
I see joy within the syntax of a shop sign
Or a bus stop conversation in a west country town
I feel overwhelmed sometimes by all the rational types
Who just dismiss coincidence and instinct and perception
As a trick of the mind
It’s always fleeting, like snapshots or flashbacks and
Unwritten endings and the promises wrapped up inside
And I’m all potential, and potential is the spark behind my eyes
Behind my eyes
I’m forensic by design
I’m the sort who sees a magic trick
Then kills himself to find out how it’s done
And then I’m always let down
I’m all details and facts
How can I sleep when there’s comparisons and speculation,
Talking heads, deliberations haunting me
Fleeting moments are insomnia for the curious and
Untied endings are the curse of inquisitive minds
And so what’s potential,
When potential might be all you ever know?
I don’t know
Oh the summer, it drags its heels
And then for every fleeting moment
There’s a fortnight left to wonder if it happened at all…
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Every night we sketch a storyboard
Drawings spread across the bed
Deciphering the day ahead and conversations
Sequences and camera angles
You’re using charcoal and felt-tips
I’m posing mannequins to map it all out
The imaginary camera work
Kicking leaves up in the cul-de-sacs
Where every road’s a movie set
And every conversation has been pre-approved
And road-tested by focus groups
And here, back in real life at our desks
Still imagining we’re filming on sets
Where the cameras film in single takes
So you pick out locations and directions for the cast
I’ll be learning lines for all occasions that arise
We’ll imagine clapperboards for every single scene in our day-to-day lives
And you’ll find continuity from one clip to the next
I’ll be free to improvise as long as it complies with an overall view
Where the cameras always follow you
And it’s enchanting in a certain way
Every word is magnified
Every look considered
Yet we’re bordering on obsession on directing
Alongside fictitious camera crews that film
Imaginary plots that never work through
When the cameras never follow you
So you could leave the stories and the dialogue to chance
I’ll be free to improvise and take things as they come and
We’ll keep up an open mind for every single scene in our day-to-day lives
And we’ll find continuity from one day to the next
No-one needs a storyboard to tell us what we should have known all along
That the cameras follow everyone
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Growing up on the outskirts of town
To the sound of ice cream vans and flight paths above
And we raced on bikes through the streets after dark
Till that girl got knocked down by a Volkswagen car
And she stayed inside as she started to heal
As the cinema closed and the theatre closed too
And I’d later run through the high street at night
Past the charity shops and the flashing blue lights on the outskirts of town
Endless Threads was a shop on my road
Opened in autumn, by winter it’s closed
As it found no favour with home-made designs
As the kids wait on platforms for city-bound trains
And the girl with the bike moved in over the shop
Opened the boxes the owners forgot and their
Faded plans for a cinema club
Simply gathering dust with the discounted clothes
And a handwritten note, with the words…
“To whomever this letter might find
Here’s the last of my dreams on the outskirts of town
I’m in love with the smiles on pedestrian streets
But I’ve fallen for something that’s out of my reach
And I guess the anonymous city’s for me
And I guess I’m naïve if I think I’ll survive on the outskirts of town”
And I understand, I can see the bright lights in your eyes
And she folds the note, puts it back in the box
Hands in the clothes to the charity shops
And she leaves her bike on some railings unchained
And then waits on a bench for a city-bound train on the outskirts of town
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I’m asleep on a train on the Zone 2 boundary
Awoken by the weary sigh of a ticket guy
Placating some ‘young lady’ by his side
I was late, I was tired and I lost my Oyster card
He’s coming on with all this tired bureaucracy
When all I need is empathy and sleep
On the street nothing’s changed since the 1990s
(You’ve changed, you’re so much older)
Oh, I haven’t changed since ‘99
(Well I’ve seen your suit)
I’ve still got my paperround
When I get to my desk I’m a different person
(That’s a conscious choice you made though)
I’ll manage risks and strategies
(Is that enough?)
Yes, as long as I get paid
I’m a painter, always painting lies
It was all fine
Til a man in a street said that what you’ve done there is just
Cross the line
I’ve no desire to go too far and
Cross the line
Led astray by the city ways and
Cross the line
I don’t know why but I always try for the last word
When you know the last word’s mine
As a kid I would run through the fields and orchards
(What about your hayfever though?)
I’d climb the branches to the top
(What with your vertigo?)
Look I’m making all this up
I’ve a dream of a house with the perfect garden
(Yeah, you and a thousand of others)
The pebble dash and the crazy pave
(And a 4x4?)
Nah, we’d cycle every day
I’m a carpenter
Chip away at dreams
Til a bartender
Said that one of these days all your cycnical ways will just
Cross the line
I’ve no desire to go too far and
Cross the line
Led astray by the city ways and
Cross the line
I don’t know why but I always try for the last word
When you know the last word’s mine
I’d swap some sleep for a fixed emotion
A G&T and some suntan lotion
A bag of chips in a seaside coast town
An empty seat on the underground and
A basement club where there’s space for dancing
A conversation that’s life enhancing
A sudden twist that I’m not expecting
A novelette with a cryptic ending
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I’ve been dying to tell you for some time
That my friends have up and left me and I’m skating on thin ice
Threw my arms around a memory
Of laughter in the disco and the sense of family
The rain stopped falling
When you walked up to me
Now my backpack’s bulging and I’m running away again
And my heart is heavy with the words you said to me
Threw my arms around a memory
Of late night drinking and dancing ‘til three
The rain stopped falling
When you walked up to me
I can’t stop crying
I’m running on empty
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And the most curious thing
Aside from the way that the sun often shines inappropriately on a crisis
Aside from the strange sense of calm
And the way that we instinctively sit on the seats on the left hand side of the top deck of your local bus
Is what happens to all of the secrets we carelessly shared on those January days on the sofa in the front room of your terraced house?
Now things are over, tell me do they just disappear or get broadcast on all channels and frequencies around town?
I guess we both feel like talking
But maybe we could find a way to be discreet this time?
And we're fine with the truth
It's more just the stuff we'll make up when we're drunk to find favour with friends and distant acquaintances
And you're welcome to say I'm often distracted and don't always put my books straight back on their bookshelves, they just lie around
And I'll just say you're forgetful
From PIN numbers, birthdays and dentist appointments to paying your rent
But they know that anyway
And we'll just leave it there
If anyone asks well we just grew apart and there's nothing to share
I know we both feel like talking
But maybe we could find a way to be discreet?
And I'll stand aside, bite my tongue until the moment subsides
I'll stand aside and let everyone think that you're sweetness and light
I'll stand aside, close my eyes until the moment subsides
I'll stand aside and let everyone think that you're sweetness and light
And I'll pack my bags
Warm as the sun shines obliviously
I know it's a poor consolation for me
As I sit on the bus in our regular seats
The secrets we shared in your old terraced house on those January days
Will stay with the sofa and moth-eaten chairs
Fade over time, disappear
And I'll stand aside and let people decide for themselves
If you're sweetness and light... or something else
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I didn’t want to read the news today, I turned my head away
All calls diverted to my answer phone
Position closed I don’t suppose you’d take a message for me?
My work is done, I’m going home
Well I’m not going out
I’m going to stay at home tonight
I’m not going out
I’m going to stay at home and write my autobiography
A shopping list, a love letter to D
Leave me alone, I’m staying home
I didn’t want to see the news today, I turned my head away
(I’d rather see your picture)
All calls directed to my answer phone
(You wouldn’t call me anyway)
Sit in the dark just don’t come knocking now, I’m locking out the world
(Don’t ask me any questions)
My work is done, I’m laying low
(I just don’t know what happened)
Well I’m not going out
I’m going to stay at home tonight
I’m not going out
I’m going to stay at home and write my autobiography
A shopping list, a love letter to D
Leave me alone, I’m staying home
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Hilltops, snowdrops, late night dares
Queuing outside for the Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Soft toys, Beach Boys, corduroy flares
Kissing for hours
Up on Crystal Drive
Well I wrote down all the good times
Crystal Drive
As the years go by, I won’t change my mind
We got a motorboat lost in a land-locked harbour
Did a karaoke turn you regretted after
Left your gran and granddad in fits of laughter
And you said at the time
That I’d just forget everything
And you’d never understand
But I wrote this list down
Every good time we ever had
We did a politics course in the last semester
They threw you in the lake in my favourite sweater
You wrote you loved me in your final letter
But in the very next line
You said I’d just forget everthing
And you’d never understand
But I wrote this list down
Every good time we ever had
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There’s a snap as you step on a twig
We’re frozen on tiptoes in fear
And sink to our heels in relief
Past kids on their paperround trails
Milkfloats and shiftworker cars
And revellers staggering home
Rendezvous at the top of the park
Gaze down at the smoke and the lights
The buildings suspiciously quiet
And I reach for a Paperchase bag
Rip pages from plain A4 pads
Write notes for the city below
And I’m folding arrows, and you’re folding darts, dear
And I’m E H Mathews and you’re Ninomiya
It’s all in symmetrics and aerodynamics in classic design
As it glides from my hands
Past the padlocked park gates
Through the cold city streets
Past the tired chief execs
Somersaults and pirouettes
Past health spa retreats
Venture capitalists
‘Til they swoop and they fall
Paper aeroplanes are raining down
Just to haunt you
We’ll launch ‘til we drop
Chapped hands and sharp paper cuts
Bruises and javelin arms
And they’ll glance off the lampposts and trees
Knock hats off the suits in the street
And land in their coffees and teas
So I’m making airfoils and you’ve built a fuselage
I’m writing sound bites and you’ve written monologues
So, pick the targets, they’ll fly with a serene velocity girl
Glide and then fall
Past the rush hour cars
And the cinema aisles
And the rooftop hotels
Pirouettes and somersaults
Past old market stalls
And juvenile courts
Til they swoop and they fall
Paper aeroplanes are raining down
Just to haunt you somehow
And as the sun comes up
Gaze at the horizon and ask
What on earth is going on?
Pirouettes and somersaults
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Seems like lately
From leaves on the line to Paxman’s ‘goodnight’
All I ever seem to do is rush around
There’s never a second to think
And you’re running
From pavements and parks from dawn until dusk
All you ever seem to do is rush around
Never a second to gaze
At the pattern the sun makes through curtains and blinds
Or the way that your fringe frames your eyes
As the weekends dissolve in our calendars and
Seems like every evening’s a school night
In the goldrush from status to endless deadlines
All we ever seem to do is rush around
And the next day
You’re there by my side with a quizzical eye saying
‘All you ever seem to do is laze around looking at clouds’
As a book lies face down on the table, a crease in the spine
And we’re supposed to be running for our lives
As the weekends dissolve in our calendars and
Seems like every evening’s a school night
In the goldrush from status to endless deadlines
All we ever seem to do is rush around
And on bank holidays we stop and say
‘Let’s try again next year
‘Cos all we do is rush around’
| Waking Up EP |
There's a saying that hangs in my family's hall which they found in an airport gift shop
"No deberíamos perder el tiempo"
And on Sunday I idly looked up the words on an otherwise inactive weekend
And if only I'd had it translated before
And I've never been one for regretting
But when I'm back home well the words trace my steps round the kitchen
There's a sketch on my pad like a drunk spider's web or a family tree with its branches
Where the multiple marriages break up the flow
And the plans and the deadlines are scattered around like litter collects on the high road
And the more you collect, it continues to spread
And the blueprints I pinned to the fridge
Are lost behind photos and letters and flyers for gigs
With the love I bestowed on the plans
Forgot all the steps that would bring it to life
I'll plan to perfection and skip all the actions that count
There's a window at thirty degrees to the floor in the roof of an attic conversion
It rattles in winter and creaks in the spring
And in autumn the sunshine reflects off a mirror and spotlights the frame of a photo
But the photo's been swapped for a checklist and boxes
On the left there's a clock with the date
On the right there's a pile of distractions to tempt me away
And I've never been one to look back
But there's always an anecdote even when something falls flat
With the love I bestowed on the plans
Forgot all the steps that would bring it to life
I'll plan to perfection and skip all the actions that count
And as winter transcends into spring
The light wakes me earlier every morning
And waking up early at weekends is probably the start of something
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Falling Leaves
Kiss me in the autumn at the station by the drycleaners and the fellas selling travelcards
Hold my hands and tell me that The Fall will never leave me and The Actionnettes won't break my heart
Write my name in marker pen across the local bus stop and I'll steal you all the books you love
Call the local paper and pretend we're getting married and I'll borrow you my library card
You're the blindfold round my eyes
You're my navigation satellite
I'm a tightrope walker looking down on the sights
I don't know what happened with your sister and her mother, but I don't think they're impressed with me
I don't think they like what I've been doing with my life, but can't they see it's only temporary?
I can't help but worry that your friend thinks I'm a daydreamer with aspirations quite naive
The only things worth chasing are the things that are creative, and I'm not talking accountancy
You're a red hotel on Mayfair
A superlative on a triple word score
I'm a battleship, you're a direct hit and I'm sinking
And like falling leaves in autumn you can sweep me up or pass me by
Like falling snow against your skin, or the cigarettes I can't pack in
And falling in with you is like a Class A drug they couldn't ban
The photograph that makes you smile and sends a shiver down your spine
Gravity's got me falling indefinitely
I don't think it matters my career path's in tatters, I could always take a course or two
Tell me what you're thinking, maybe when I've finished singing, I suppose this is a family tune
I think I'm addicted, I get panicked when you're missing, I need patches when you're not around
I have conversations in my head that you're not party to, you should have heard the things you said!
Like an etching on my brain
Like a letter tacked on my DNA
I'm a chip pan fire, you're the water that won't stay away
And like falling leaves in autumn you can sweep me up or pass me by
Like falling snow against your skin, or the cigarettes I can't pack in
You're the blindfold round my eyes
You're my navigation satellite
And just falling in with you is like a Class A drug they couldn't ban
The photograph that makes you smile and sends a shiver down your spine
Gravity's got me falling indefinitely
Tell me if it ever ends you'll let me have my heart back in a single piece
You're the one I call after closing time
The night bus spins to the spellbinding sound of your voice...
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Love Is The Stick You Throw
Throw the keys into the bowl and gather letters off the hallway floor
It’s just another summer night indoors
Looking for a sign of your familiar writing like the day before
Among the bills and local taxi firms
A picture postcard from Berlin; you say you’re fine, you’re made some friends
You just need a bit of time to get your head straight
I’ve heard it all before, I’ve read these words so many times it doesn’t really scare me
I pin it to the kitchen cupboard door
It makes no difference what you say or how long you will stay away this time
But can I make a suggestion…
Don’t think I cannot read between the lines
I’ve won this game a hundred times
I’ve got the gold, the silver and the bronze
Love is the stick you throw; however far it goes, you’ll find your way back home again
Don’t think I cannot read between the lines
I’ve won this game a hundred times
I’ve got the gold, the silver and the bronze
Throw the keys into the bowl and gather letters off the hallway floor
It’s just another summer night indoors…
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Don't Stop
Oh, I'm tired, I'm tired of all this introspection
Each day being led by committee direction
Just seems somehow all of my friends found the answers (well good for them)
I know, it's all I can do to stop calling them
And oh, you're tough, your confidence is made by Teflon
I can't hide and I never seem to learn all my lessons
I can't look, 'cos your eyes burn a hole straight through me (and that's unfair)
I know because all of my secrets are spread round town
And if I start to tell you, I'm not as clued up as I'd like
Just stop me
And if I let slip, there's something I'm trying to hide
Just stop me
Because a lifestyle where I'm constantly living a lie
Has to be preferable to showing my hand
Oh, I'm lost, I'm lost inside a flippin’ vortex
Spiral down watching everyone else moving forwards
And yeah, yeah, you're a fragment of hope but you're fake (don't take offence)
I know, it's like ladders and snakes, but there's only snakes
And if I start to tell you, that maybe I don't feel like dancing
Don't stop me
If I let slip, yeah maybe there's someone I fancy
Don't stop me
Because a lifestyle, where I'm constantly showing my hand
Has to be preferable to living a lie
I went on trial at my instigation
Opened my files to investigation
Caught your eye in a conversation
And it might be love, and I might be mistaken
I took advice and I made a statement
A party line of my own creation
You're a helping hand, I'm appreciation
And it might be love, and I might be mistaken
And if I start to tell you, I'm not as clued up as I'd like
Don't stop me
And if I let slip, there's something I'm trying to hide
Don't stop me
And if I tell you that maybe I don't feel like dancing
Don't stop me
If I let slip, yeah maybe there's someone I fancy
Don't stop me
Because a lifestyle, where I'm constantly showing my hand
Has to be preferable to living a lie
| Other |
Facing up to summertime
A campfire and a box of wine
A festival to keep the workers occupied
Just another summertime
A t-shirt tan, a hosepipe ban
A Sunday night, a barbeque that overran
Just another can of Pimms
A secret that you overheard and can’t keep in
An incident, and no-one’s talking
Summer lacks technology
To engineer apologies and amnesties
We’ll have to try diplomacy
If everything leads up to summertime
Most our time’s spent in the shade
Sometimes summer never leaves
The temping job you took to pay tuition fees
Is never quite what it first seems
Look at summer ecstasy
It’s a media conspiracy of theme park deals
Calais trips and barbeques
If everything leads up to summertime
Most our time’s spent in the shade
If everything leads up to summertime
Most our time’s spent in the shade