Woorden: Johnny Foreigner. 199x.

In a terraced house in Rubery haunts
The ghost of something awful
A crushing dark and normal
Like the night we made yr parents divorce
Days spent playing rebels
Pushing our own funerals forwards, forwards

I almost fucked you on the couch in the lounge
Teenagers are useless
Cause a brittle Christmas
And the glass shards sparkle sharp in the snow
Outside for the romance
Inside for the lust and I want you, want you
(Want you, want you)
I want you, want you
(Want you, want you)

I heard you kept a diary
Of all the gone-wrongs
And I know you won't believe me
I think yr one of the lucky ones
(Lucky ones)
I think yr one of them

You walked the long way with yr dignity crowned
If yr your mother's anger
I'm my father's grave
And we're back on our old shaky ground
You don't believe in ghosts
But that terraced house in Rubery haunts you, haunts you
It haunts you, haunts you

I heard you kept a diary
Of all the gone-wrongs
And I know you won't believe me
I think yr one of the lucky ones
(Lucky ones)
I think yr one of them