Local Boy In The Photograph
There's no mistake,
I smell that smell,
It's that time of year again,
I can taste the air.
The clocks go back,
Railway track,
Something blocks the line again,
And the train runs late for the first time.
A pebble beach,
We're underneath,
A Pier had just been painted red,
Where I heard the news for the first time.
And all the friends lay down the flowers,
Sit on the banks and drink for hours,
Talk of the way they saw him last
Local boy in the photograph . . . today
He'll always be twenty-three,
Yet that train runs on and on,
Past the place they found his clothing.
There's no mistake,
I smell that smell,
It's that time of year again,
I can taste the air.
The clocks go back,
Railway track,
Something blocks the line again,
And the train runs late for the first time . . . today.
And all the friends lay down the flowers,
Sit on the banks and drink for hours,
Talk of the way they saw him last,
Local boy in the photograph . . . today.
He's gone away.
--
We've got the dreamers disease..
--
※ 發信站: 批踢踢實業坊(ptt.twbbs.org)
◆ From: sj21-73.dialup.