There Won't Always Be an England
from Tyre Fire by The Wind-up Birds
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lyrics
I have, it seems, committed a crime
I didn’t cry tears for this country of mine
Some rich blokes in a sporting arena
Got beat by some other blokes, hungrier and leaner
Then a bloke on a bar stool; his life in tatters
Squealing into his pint, as if it all matters
He’s torn off his top so his arms are on view
And his tattoo says, “English, through and through”
All I said was, “I’m not that bothered…”
He leaps from his stool; his mates all hovered
He gives me a potted history then
I show some sense and I fail to correct him
He mentions some wars and some of his heroes
I nod along…they mean nothing to me though
He makes factual errors based on our borders
And he finger-draws a map as they call in last orders
Then he turns his attention to racial matters
To my shames I say nowt ‘cause I think that he’ll twat us
And I head for the door with his voice in my ears
An unbearable echo of his unfounded fears
In my head, a better man than me, by far
Turns on his heels and he steams back to the bar
Drags the man from his barstool by his hair
Pulls him away from his mates with reasonable care
And he finds a quiet corner by the glass bottle bins
And he quietly proceeds to explain a few things
Such as: the borders of England adapting through time
And the invading forces that diluted his bloodline
And the noblemen’s deals to pay off their debts
That lead in to decisions affecting us yet
And the rich men laughing at his patriotism
That keeps him hemmed in, as sure as a prison
Then look into the future; his dreams are a mess
Like any invention overtaken by progress
A relic from the past, hidden from view
His England evolved into something brand new
I didn’t cry tears for this country of mine
Some rich blokes in a sporting arena
Got beat by some other blokes, hungrier and leaner
Then a bloke on a bar stool; his life in tatters
Squealing into his pint, as if it all matters
He’s torn off his top so his arms are on view
And his tattoo says, “English, through and through”
All I said was, “I’m not that bothered…”
He leaps from his stool; his mates all hovered
He gives me a potted history then
I show some sense and I fail to correct him
He mentions some wars and some of his heroes
I nod along…they mean nothing to me though
He makes factual errors based on our borders
And he finger-draws a map as they call in last orders
Then he turns his attention to racial matters
To my shames I say nowt ‘cause I think that he’ll twat us
And I head for the door with his voice in my ears
An unbearable echo of his unfounded fears
In my head, a better man than me, by far
Turns on his heels and he steams back to the bar
Drags the man from his barstool by his hair
Pulls him away from his mates with reasonable care
And he finds a quiet corner by the glass bottle bins
And he quietly proceeds to explain a few things
Such as: the borders of England adapting through time
And the invading forces that diluted his bloodline
And the noblemen’s deals to pay off their debts
That lead in to decisions affecting us yet
And the rich men laughing at his patriotism
That keeps him hemmed in, as sure as a prison
Then look into the future; his dreams are a mess
Like any invention overtaken by progress
A relic from the past, hidden from view
His England evolved into something brand new
credits
from Tyre Fire,
track released April 26, 2010
license
all rights reserved
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about
The Wind-up Birds Leeds
New EP - "Pop. Thinking" is out now.
More gigs on the way as well.
shows
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Apr 20Leeds, UK
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May 25Bingley, UK
discography
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Jul 2023 -
Dec 2021 -
May 2020 -
Feb 2018
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