If I could just spill my mind...
with or without,
I’m waving myself goodbye.
You’re swimming round, you can’t get out,
the sides have upped to London now,
like everyone that you know,
you’re treading on, the last to go...
Stuck on the words
“I need to sort my life out”,
and I hate that I’ve tamed my kindness.
How fickle the mind is, ooo
I’m feeling lady-like.
I’ve had enough of all the yups
going on about their stuff,
they’re all in love, at restaurants,
aubergine and apricot…
but sometimes I’m maybe
afraid that there’s no feeling like it,
afraid that there’s nothing else,
and maybe I’m wrong after all…
I’ll peddle on to forty-one,
the Hambledon’s my Avalon,
cardigans, the Guardian,
I wasn’t born a partisan...
The cousin in me of someone,
the moment your mum was my mum.
Lowswimmer, lowswimmer, lowswimmer, lowswimmer,
you’re feeling those feelings,
goddammit let me feel some more.
