Iâll drop you a postcard, Iâll pick up my pen
Miranda Streetâs deserted, itâs winter again
Give me ten minutes and Iâll paint you a picture
Of holiday houses where the sun wonât shine
And the paint is peeling around the âvacancyâ sign
And itâs winter forever, whatever the weather
And these are my autumn years
This is the town where the girl got run down
Pale sun in the pine trees, her golden hair on the ground
Her body crumpled and I was sick by the side of the road
The sun goes down on the town where the sun never rose
Iâm waiting for December, Iâm waiting for September
Iâm waiting for the tide to come back in
Give me fifteen seconds and Iâll show you around
Where I end is where I begin
Thereâs nothing in between
Kicking a stone along Miranda Street
Stepping on cracks in the concrete
With a head full of loose change
And a pocket full of ideas
I could walk forever and never get out of here
This is the town where the girl got run down
And this is the town where the postman was drowned
And this is the town where that foundling was found
And the name round his neck was mine
How could it ever be so cold in summertime?
Iâm too young to be so old in Summertown
- :
- First Frost
- Warmer Corners
- Naturaliste
- Where Were We?
- Staring At The Sky
- Happy Secret
- What Bird Is That?
- The Green Bicycle Case
- Boondoggle
- Miscellaneous
- A Good Kind Of Nervous
- First Tape
- Spring a Leak
- Get-to-Bed Birds
- The Matinée Grand Prix
- Cartography for Beginners
- Midweek Midmorning
- T-Shirt Weather
- A Boy, a Girl, and a Rendezvous
- Romantic and Square Is Hip and Aware: A Matinée Tribute...