Knocking in the old town
Hearing woof behind the door
Something happened to Zelda’s voice
She said: Oi, we’ve just got a dog!
Holding a big black labrador
Stood in the kitchen when the boys walked in
Wish I could have jumped up to them
Without the reservations, same way as he did
No second guessing, just plain enthusiasm
Stood under the spotlights watching it
The walls painted purple by Zelda’s mother
My dad said she was a bit of a bitch
But I chatted with Zelda over big mugs of tea
Sank in the big pillowed cushions
Reading Harry Potter together
Watching Pan’s Labyrinth
Autumn in that old familiar street
Felt so grown up when I was sixteen
Other people bought our home but they don’t know
There’s a graveyard filled with my guinea pigs
They still popcorn when I’m sleeping
Found my old Spice Girls clock
While I boxed my books for the new bookshelf
In the hotel where my father worked
The curious collections I once made like Hermione
To function as their new second-hand aesthetic
For the criminals with their secret affairs and shady business
Now every news article gets me worried
New Gen-Z stories, influencers, right-winged plans
Twenty somethings with earrings and 80’s outfits
Don’t let the bastards grind you down baby
So show me Paris until my feet can’t carry me
The coral reefs fading, my memories getting rusty
World going up in flames, fifty degree heatwaves
Cutting off critical journalists, politicians entering and leaving
Boyfriend scruffy in the golden hour, my hair only getting wilder
We’ll go somewhere they’ll never find us
Wave goodbye to the nineties
Walking in the dunes
Lavish lifestyles like Lana Del Rey
The sunset so incredible
And I truly enjoy this rough kind of happy
Carrying scars on my heart
My mum said we were hippies it’s our fault
Felt like tracing the steps back to my old school
To get the stitches of teenage love undone
But they tore the old building down
And in the reality of the rubble I found
The end of all my loose ends
Because everybody was long gone
Though I saw was the boy next door again
Who used to be my angsty best friend
In the golden hour under the big green trees
Walking with his raven black hair to the busstation
Other people bought our home but they don’t know
There’s a graveyard filled with my guinea pigs
They’re still on my lap when I’m sleeping
Found my pink Magic Twisty
Boxing my books for the new bookshelf
In the hotel where my father worked
The confused collections I once made like Alice
To function as their new second-hand aesthetic
For the criminals with their secret affairs and shady business
Now every news article gets me worried
New Gen-Z stories, influencers, right-winged plans
Twenty somethings with big curls and 80’s outfits
Don’t let the bastards grind you down honey
So show me London until my feet can’t carry me
World going up in flames, fifty degree heatwaves
The coral reefs fading, my memories getting rusty
Cutting off critical journalists, salt drying on my skin
Boyfriend scruffy in the golden hour, my hair only getting wilder
We’ll go somewhere they’ll never find us
Wave goodbye to the nineties
Some boys made a sport
Of making the most out of the housing market
I could have been condemned to coffee corners
Until I was Gandalf The Grey but without the wisdom
My backpack weighed down by a student debt
Slowly fossilizing like a millennial that’s lost forever
But the Ethiopian coffee smelled sacred
Bought my mum an extraordinary amount of presents
Did any of these friendships ever mean anything
If people never asked me how I was doing?
So many questions I never asked them
I grew up in blue jeans but they weren’t comfy
Spent my evenings with the whippet writing articles
Other people bought our home but they don’t know
There’s a graveyard filled with my guinea pigs
They still wheek when I’m sleeping
One day my boyfriend walked in
Still hungover from a night of partying
He made my knees week by being such a gentleman
I looked at a baby drooling on his father
And he raised his eyebrows playfully
Gave me a look that said I’m up for it with you baby
Where would we be without the chaos
Of a puppy sitting down in the middle of the street?
Now every news article gets me worried
New Gen-Z stories, influencers, right-winged plans
Twenty somethings smiling in their new 80’s outfits
Don’t let the bastards grind you down bitches
So show me Berlin until my feet can’t carry me
World going up in flames, fifty degree heatwaves
The coral reefs fading, my memories getting rusty
Cutting off critical journalists, fighting over Twitter that’s now X
Naomi Klein warning for the fascist undercurrents
Boyfriend scruffy in the golden hour, my hair only getting wilder
We’ll go somewhere they’ll never find us
Wave goodbye to the nineties
My girlfriends getting pregnant
The whippet pup sleeping on his back in his basket
Boyfriend drinking double espressos and looking at maps
A strong body with ocean blue eyed stubbornness
My mother sighing: this time isn’t practical or promising
She’s my best friend but she’s always rational
Clears my grey clouds by cloudbusting my thought bubbles
I used to be in deep yoga spirits now all I can think of is concrete
Listening to mindfulness meditations driven by capitalism
My parents left the family dinner of my uncles early
Because the whippet pup wasn’t allowed at the party
She pretended to really mind that and discuss it all
As they sat peacefully in the hotel garden
I told the whole story like: can you actually believe this?
To my husband standing with his feet in the sea
He chuckled sand said this is the way they planned it
Now every news article gets me worried
New Gen-Z stories, influencers, right-winged plans
Twenty somethings with 80’s outfits singing
Please don’t let them take these beautiful things
So show me Rome until my feet can’t carry me
Found my old friendship bracelets
I think girls should be laughing loudly
With band aids from playing outside all day
They should be slurping and telling their irregular stories
And they should learn how to throw punches (just in case)
The world going up in flames, fifty degree heatwaves
The coral reefs fading, my memories getting rusty
Cutting off critical journalists, the rise of new dictators
Seems like there’s no end to the blood on their hands
Boyfriend scruffy in the golden hour, my hair only getting wilder
We’ll go somewhere they’ll never find us
Wave goodbye to the nineties