Coming down off the nova somewhere near the boiled egg that is Royal Albert Hall, we watch Paul's sun crossed with John's star and hold ice cream hands. Someone slipped on a cassette as the one you wanted left left with someone else but somehow it was cool because the music filled the shadows, you heard a sound that was a million miles away from fakery and a step away from your heart.
Just like it always did, this sound puts the swagger back into your step, the rush into your blood but somehow, and I don't know how, they had become deeper, wider soulful, better in their craft, inspired by so many things like a world that is tilting who knows where and the applause they always knew was theirs but waited so impatiently to receive. Words cut you from all angles, backed up by majestically and majestically to soothe the wounds inside.
As you are dragged inside on this trip abandon, you hear a council estate singing its heart out, you hear the clink of loose change that is never enough what you need, boredom and poverty, hours spent with a burnt out guitar, dirty pubs and cracked pavements, violence and love all rolled in one, and now all this.
At the ed you flip over and start again because now you are not isolated. They have gone to work so that you can go home. High above the day turns pink and you fell your feet lift above the ground as new roads open up in front of you. In this town the jury is always rigged ~but the people know. They always know the truth. Believe. Belief. Their morning glory.
