Ghost Town

The shutters rattle in the rain, A train goes through and back again. They’ve put the cinema up for sale, The “coming soon” sign’s turning pale. You wear your father’s Sunday coat, I’ve got a tune caught in my throat. They call this place a ghost town now— We’ve got to wake it up somehow. Turn it up and let it run, We’re too young to come undone. Let the whole street hear that sound— We’re still here, we’re coming round. Your mother calls you from upstairs, The bass comes shaking through the chairs. Two different songs behind one door, We find a third across the floor. The neighbours bang, you miss a beat, Then laugh and stamp your stocking feet. The power cuts at half past ten— We clap our hands and start again. Round and round, Feet on stone. Pass it on— You’re not alone. Turn it up and let it run, We’re too young to come undone. Let the whole street hear that sound— We’re still here, we’re coming round. Still here… Still here… You can hear us coming round.