Returns on an August afternoon, ten years in the remaking;
Its clothes are much more fashionable than mine,
It’s not losing its hair or it hasn’t put on weight.
And with a gym membership and a heavy purse;
It’s done a lot better than I.
You think it would recognise me, as I recognise it.
I’m standing on ....North Street.... waving,
It’s much too busy to greet me, it has plans you know.
So for now I’ll hunt down the ghosts,
Standing on a street that used to mine,
Forever and completely lost in time.
It's seven o’clock and the streets are still full,
Each bar is shining old yet new.
Is this really the city I once knew; Alive
Coloured comfortable and cool.
Yet every city is the sum of its ghosts.
The mind may forget but a city does not yet.
So if an apology is due, I’ll make it writing.
The fault is mine, a small misunderstanding.
Sometimes you lose your way and with a little
Drink your bearing. But I’m picked up and
Brushed off with the hand of understanding.
In a city that is truly yours, a taxi out will be your salvation.