You stop in the old cafe
Where you used to play pinball
And look for the air-raid shelter but it's gone
And the cafe seems so small
And all the gardens that had trees
And stolen apples
Now have small businesses
Flourishing in cinder blocks
Then they will call your name
And hand you a gold watch
Then they will call your name
But it doesn't sound like much
And you'll never discover
Why it's like an old lover
You can't touch anymore
It doesn't mean much anymore
When you go back in time, back in time
You head down to the local
Try to find a focal point
A scratch in the wallpaper
But it's all been wallpapered over
Down at the newsagents
It's all pornography
And you try to get high again
But it's like time-lapse photography
Then they will call your name
And hand you a medal
Or something more practical
Like a whistling kettle
And it'll test your metal
Just try to keep grinning
Knowing that this feeling is indulgence
Worse than sinning
Trying to go back in time
Photographs with a glossy finish letters
Lovers never finished
And there in a dusty drawer
A necktie you once wore
And a girl you tried to court
Made you feel about two feet short
Where is she now today?
What would she have to say?
Then they will call your name
And hand you a pension
A bottle of pills
That guarantee life extension
And give you a mention in the local
Boy makes good section
But all the old news
Is like print stains across your mind
When you go back in time
Yes, all this old news
Is just print stains across your mind
When you go back in time, back in time
Yes, all this old news
Is just print stains across your mind
When you go back in time, back in time
Yes, all this old news
Is just print stains across your mind
When you go back in time, back in time