Children of the sixties, children of the seventies,
You're still here, you're not old.
You talk as though you're old, but you're not old.
I remember even back then I felt like I was getting old,
But now when I see the photos from then I look so young.
I remember sitting cross-legged at a Christmas party,
Such wide-eyed hope – that night we really felt we could change the world,
We really felt that anything was possible,
Like after one more drink anything becomes possible... but in the morning we felt different,
In the morning we came to our senses.
Children of the sixties, children of the seventies, what happened to us?
Now the kids are grown and we watch TV list-shows:
Talking heads talk Talking Heads... when Bono climbed off that stage I wished he's never got back up,
I wish he'd walked off into the crowd with his cockatoo hairdo. On the dole, dancing to Rio with your umbrella hair... This isn't what you dreamed of...
We'd gather round the radio, and when we were unhappy,
A song said it for us
I turn back to the typewriter and my cassettes, as VHS played Betamax, now all the cassette tapes are wrapped round trees, or lying in a charity shop.
1981 wasn't like 1980 or 1982: each year had a different personality. We all moved to London, we all worked in Our Price, we all moved to London and lost a decade or two, cried London tears, politics got blunted until we felt shy about how principled we'd been.
We'd gather round the radio, and when we were unhappy a song said it for us
We were so sure we could change the world
Our principles escaping us like slow punctures
Our friends in the north: we got so drunk, so wasted, reined in by America, infected by American angst; the smell of caps fading away, flared and peaked with New Labour – how did we get to where we are now?
It's like finding an old letter you wrote: so full of passion, so full of fire, like a stranger to yourself – it's time to rise up, you're still here, you're still the same person, rise up!
Inside you're undimned, I will not be restricted, I will not accept this apathy – every little decision you make changes everything. We've so much to rebel against – they make it so that good news becomes no news in no time at all.
We'd gather round the radio, and when we were unhappy a song said it for us
We were so sure we could change the world
Our principles escaped us like slow punctures
Children of the sixties, children of the seventies, we made the very mistakes we vowed we'd avoid. Breaking rules angrily, then breaking rules quietly, then breaking rules from within, then not breaking anything.
And what would the person you were then think of the person you are now?
Conclusion of the foregoing.