I hit the streets for the first time in too long, and it felt so strange, I did not belong, but I could see that nothing much had changed, When I think back I’m forced to ask myself, where all of my enthusiasm went, Did I just get too jaded by the same old faces and the same old banners of contempt? But those routines they did mean something, And we weren’t just fucking around, Conceited and self-important but, We weren’t just fucking around, Moving through the city I saw a friend, Who didn’t want to catch my eye, I could tell that he was uncomfortable, As he discreetly nodded then hurried by, When people started leaving, I felt it had ended much too soon, I’d been missing the fun, Of shouting slogans on a rainy Sunday afternoon, But those routines they did mean something, And we weren’t just fucking around, Conceited and self-important but, We weren’t just fucking around, I called into the bookshop where I got tapped on the shoulder, A stranger smiling like she knew me, kept calling me by someone else’s name, Then out of nowhere an anxious old man rushed over, He said “don’t worry son, she’s getting on”, and he led her away, It knocked me back but I still raised my hand when I saw her turn to wave. There is so much in my life, And if you like I’ll share it all with you, Don’t believe them when they say, That this is just a phase we’re going through, Cause this is real, And we’re entitled to the anger that we feel, And we’re entitled to the sadness that we feel. Those routines they did mean something to me, We weren’t just fucking around, Though our anger was sometimes misdirected, I know that our intentions were always sound, it’s safe to say, We meant every word we said, And if I am sure of anything, It’s that I know that we having nothing to regret.

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