Salt Coast

Salt coast, foul wind Old ghosts, scrap tin Leaves, rain Leaves, rain Salt coast, foul wind Old ghosts, scrap tin Leaves, rain Leaves, rain All dressed up with nowhere to go I love your sleeve-pulling nervousness I love the way you crumble into chalk at your edges I love the way you fade into a sky that is as endless As your willingness to try Keep going and it will get better I love the way you push to get clear I love the way you dance to get strong Ancient Slick clay, rock-formed, wet sand, moss-borne What camе before And what will come aftеr Beneath the orderly queues, the bad moods, the nice views The have-nots and have-toos, the night shifts in flat shoes The discarded masks, the empty tubes The colds, the flus, the reds The blues, the buy-to-let, the play-to-lose The white ace, the grey goose, the Michelin-starred, the fast food The straight lies, the strange truth I can hear the deep rasp of your laughter, joyful Beneath the stifled resentments And micro-aggressions All part of the fabric The tension woven so tight it defies its dimension The see-but-don't-feel The know-but-don't-mention There you are; hedonistic, self-destructive, insecure Trying to get away from the mistakes you've made before Salt coast, foul wind Old ghosts, scrap tin Leaves, rain Leaves, rain Salt coast, foul wind Old ghosts, scrap tin Leaves, rain Leaves, rain Veering into change I appreciate your efforts Acknowledging your privilege But prone to back-stepping Sure, it's not by our past that our future will be measured It's by the very moment that we're slumping in, dishevelled Six hours in to some TV show that tastes like the feeling of pizza I know what you reach for All dressed up with nowhere to go Benched, waiting for a path to open up Waiting for a thing that might make you old enough To get into the pub Where people drink to lost youth I see you, scraping the gravel in your air max So beautiful, so chaotic, so grounded Home Concrete and loam Brick-dust and loans Wood-floors Screen-doors And a place of your own Pay it off the rest of your life, but who's asking? Restless, the damp night approaching Distilling the heat Too long on your feet Now you want to be free From the strain of what's done in your name Every single inch of you is somebody's claim The familiar refrain Of their glory and your shame You just want to keep moving, the energy contained Is spilling out and making trouble for you Nothing is the same You got out from underneath the weight of suffer and obey The tyranny and hate of Britannia Rules the Waves And now you swing your hips as you go strutting down the lane I love you when I see you this plain Your salt coast, your foul wind Your old ghosts, your scrap tin The browning of your leaves And the greening of your rain Salt coast, foul wind Old ghosts, scrap tin Leaves, rain Leaves, rain Salt coast, foul wind Old ghosts, scrap tin Leaves, rain Leaves, rain