Setting Sons

Saturday's boys live life with insults,
Drink lots of beer and wait for half time results,
Afternoon tea in the light-a-bite - chat up the girls - they
Dig it!
Saturday's girls work in tesco's and woolworths,
Wear cheap perfume 'cause its all they can afford,
Go to discos they drink babycham talk to jan - in bingo
Accents.
Saturdays kids play one arm bandits,
They never win but that's not the point is it,
Dip in silver paper when their pints go flat,
How about that - far out!

Their mums and dads smoke capstan non filters,
Wallpaper lives 'cause they all die of cancer,
What goes on - what goes wrong.

Save up their money for a holiday,
To selsey bill or bracklesham bay,
Think about the future - when they'll settle down,
Marry the girl next door - with one on the way.

These are the real creatures that time has forgot,

Not given a thought - its the system -
Hate the system - what's the system?

Saturdays kids live in council houses,
Wear v-necked shirts and baggy trousers,
Drive cortinas fur trimmed dash boards,
Stains on the seats - in the back of course!

Here we go again, it's monday at last,
He's heading for the waterloo line,
To catch the 8 a.m. fast, its usually dead on time,
Hope it isn't late, got to be there by nine.
Pin stripe suit, clean shirt and tie,
Stops off at the corner shop, to buy the times
'good morning smithers-jones'
'how's the wife and home?'
'did you get the car you've been looking for?'

Let me get inside you, let me take control of you,
We could have some good times,
All this worry will get you down,
I'll give you a new meaning to life - i don't think so.

Sitting on the train, you're nearly there
You're part of the production line,
You're the same as him, you're like tin-sardines,
Get out of the pack, before they peel you back.

Arrive at the office, spot on time,
The clock on the wall hasn't yet struck nine,
'good morning smithers jones'
'the boss wants to see you alone'
'i hope its the promotion you've been looking for'

Let me get inside you, let me take control of you,
We could have some good times,
All this worry will get you down,
I'll give you a new meaning to life - i don't think so.

'come in smithers old boy'
'take a seat, take the weight off your feet'
'i've some news to tell you'
'there's no longer a position for you' -
'sorry smithers jones'.

Put on the kettle and make some tea
It's all a part of feeling groovie
Put on your slippers turn on the tv
It's all a part of feeling groovie
It's time to relax, now you've worked your arse off
But the only one smilin' is the sun tanned boss
Work and work and work and work till you die
There's plenty more fish in the sea to fry

Meet me on the wastelands - later this day,
We'll sit and talk and hold hands maybe,
For there's not much else to do in this drab and colourless
Place.
We'll sit amongst the rubber tyres,
Amongst the discarded bric-a-brac,
People have no use for - amongst the smouldering embers of
Yesterday.

And when or if the sun shines,
Lighting our once beautiful features,
We'll smile but only for seconds,
For to be caught smiling is to acknowledge life,
A brave but useless show of compassion,
And that is forbidden in this drab and colourless world.

Meet me on the wastelands - the ones behind,
The old houses - the ones - left standing pre-war -
The ones overshadowed by the monolith monstrosities -
Councils call homes.

And there amongst the shit - the dirty linen,
The holy coca-cola tins - the punctured footballs,
The ragged dolls - the rusting bicycles,
We'll sit and probably hold hands.

And watch the rain fall - watch it - watch it -
Tumble and fall - tumble and falling -
Like our lives - like our lives -
Just like our lives.

We'll talk about the old days,
When the wasteland was release when we could play,
And think - without feeling guilty -
Meet me later but we'll have to hold hands.
Tumble and fall - tumble and falling -
Like our lives - like our lives -
Exactly like our lives.

Closer than close - you see yourself -
A mirrored image - of what you wanted to be.
As each day goes by - a little more -
You can't remember - what it was you wanted anyway.
The fingers feel the lines - they prod the space -
Your ageing face - the face that once was so beautiful,
Is still there but unrecognizable -
Private hell.

The man who you once loved - is bald and fat -
And seldom in - working late as usual.
Your interest has waned - you feel the strain -
The bed springs snap - on the occasions he lies upon you -
Close your eyes and think of nothing but -
Private hell.

Think of emma - wonder what she's doing -
Her husband terry - and your grandchildren.
Think of edward - who's still at college -
You send him letters - which he doesn't acknowledge.
'cause he don't care,
They don't care.
'cause they're all going through their own - private hell.

The morning slips away - in a valium haze,
And catalogues - and numerous cups of coffee.
In the afternoon - the weekly food,
Is put in bags - as you float off down the high street

The shop windows reflect - play a nameless host,
To a closet ghost - a picture of your fantasy -
A victim of your misery - and private hell

Alone at 6 o'clock - you drop a cup -
You see it smash - inside you crack -
You can't go on - but you sweep it up -

Safe at last inside your private hell.
Sanity at last inside your private hell.

Dear,
How are things in your little world, i hope they're going well and you are too.
Do you still see the same old crowd, the ones who used to meet every friday.
I'm really sorry that i can't be there but work comes first, i'm sure you'll understand.
Things are really taking off for me business is thriving and i'm showing a profit and.
And in any case it wouldn't be the same, 'cause we've all grown up and we've got our lives
And the values that we had once upon a time, seem stupid now 'cause the rent must be paid
And some bonds severed and others made.

Now i don't want you to get me wrong, ideals are fine when you are young and i must admit
We had a laugh, but that's all it was and ever will be, 'cause the burning sky keeps
Burning bright. and as long as it does (and it always will), there's no time for dreams
When commerce calls. and the taxman's shouting 'cause he wants his dough and the wheels of
Finance won't begin to slow.

And it's only us realists who are gonna come through 'cause there's only one power higher
Than that of truth and that's the burning sky.

Oh and by the way i must tell you, before i sign off, that i've got a meeting next week,
With the head of a big corporate i can't disclose who but i'm sure you'll know it and.
And the burning sky - keeps burning bright. and it won't turn off til it's had enough,
It's the greedy bastard who won't give up, and you're just a dreamer if you don't realize,
And the sooner you do will be the better for you, then we'll all be happy and we'll all be
Wise and all bow down to the burning sky.

Then we'll all be happy and we'll all be wise and together we will live beneath the
Burning sky.