So the village I grew up in had this one long stretch of road leading out of it at the bottom and kids and there shiny new cars would race up and down with complete abandon - so this song is about that. I was listening to some early stereophonics the other day, and may god does Kelly Jones touch on some depressing topics despite apparently only knowing major chords (and mostly just C and G) so you can basically blame him for this.
They rearranged, the flower bouquet again
The handwritings changed on the note they left
And down the Fox and Hound there telling the same story
With a different name.
The lamp post marks the spot where the journey ends
Old age left a limp leg
and the eyes down shine like they it used to
But it's a spotlight all the same
There still telling the same story, with a different name.
The hill overlooked the cemetery,
and they chased it down like a chequered flag
And it's overcome with memories
of another race lost
They broke the news in assembly, I didn't know him well,
And maybe I was just too young the understand permanence,
So I was kinda numb but mostly I was just being polite in my motionless silence
I got my license not long after that
And I drove that same road back and forth on the way to guitar practice,
And sure enough they'd rearranged the flower bouquet again,
And overtime I must confess I could not even remember the name.