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Struggle - Edit

de James Yorkston

I can feel your ribs, but that's no complaint
So go and shoot for the moon, and I'll just wait
In cafes past, carry on

And I spy dogs, at some we laugh
Do you remember the price, of those beers?
Though they couldn't play, they couldn't even play

And we laughed, and hid behind books
We could not read, although we looked the part
And had another, we couldn't even speak

And he saw our foreign looks, and he cursed
Yeh the rhythm sucked, and his equipment fucked
Carry on

And he knows this cannot last, and dreams he's far away
Dreams he's far away
And if he got himself a mask, could he really fly away
Could he really fly away?

And he hurled, a coarse insult
At our smiles, although we meant no harm
Yeh we were just in france, carrying on

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