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Punctured bicycle on a hillside desolate / Will nature make a man of me yet?
I am the son and the heir / Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
The rain falls hard on a humdrum town / This town has dragged you down
All men have secrets and here is mine
The lanes were silent / There was nothing, no-one, nothing around for miles
Sweetness, sweetness I was only joking
Good times, for a change / See the luck I've had / Can make a good man turn bad
Is it wrong to want to live on your own?
Call me morbid, call me pale / I've spent six years on your trail
I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour
Oh! Take me back to dear old Blighty
Take me out tonight / Where there's music and there's people and they're young and alive
As merry as the days were long / I was right and you were wrong
Belligerent ghouls run Manchester schools
Shyness is nice, and shyness can stop you / From doing all the things in life you'd like to
At the record company meeting / On their hands a dead star / And oh, the plans they weave / And oh, the sickening greed
I decree today that life is simply taking and not giving / England is mine, and it owes me a living
It's time the tale were told / Of how you took a child and you made him old
When you walk without ease / On these streets where you were raised
Young bones groan, and the rocks below / Say 'Throw your skinny body down, son'
