Thinking of poems of poverty
Sitting with a tight clenched wrist, thinking how to gain authority
Oh what a soft touch of a boy
He’d wander with pride to sell and keep visions to his self
Visions to his self

We’d talk of treasures, and over-rated games
We’d steal the milk bottles, sneaking through the back round Jimmy’s way.
What we loved most of all, was sitting round the shop, while this poor boy was sitting all alone,
Sitting all alone

Pondering times of sanctuary
He was sitting taking his piano lessons, we were on half an E
Invested life in medicine, had so much shit going on.
Convinced he’d never win. Convinced he was a sin.

We’d speak of women and cheaper carryouts
We’d turn up to all the festivals, trying to bring down the touts,
What we love the most of all was sittin’ at the shop, while this young boy was sittin’ all alone,
Sittin’ all alone

We’d talk of treasures and overrated games
We’d steal the milk bottles, sneaking through the back round Jimmy’s way.
What we loved most of all, was sitting at the shop, while this poor boy was sitting all alone,
Sittin’ all alone