Recorded in London at the beginning of August 2008.
lyrics
I saw young peacocks strutting,
showing off their feathers,
while the bikers in their leathers
went bombing down to Brighton.
Where, wearing bespoke-tailored breeches,
the mods fought them on the beaches,
as on any other day
on the English Riviera.
As love and life conspire to take your youth
right down to the air you breathe
and every day a piece of you dies.
So you spend your nights on streets in fights
you barely walk away from
and when you wake up in the rain
don't be so surprised
now even the sky
seems to despise you,
you who are no more a
young peacock strutting
showing off your feathers
to the peahens hid in the heather,
who fall back on feminine discretion,
and with a face like sodden turf,
downtrodden, sunken, wet and hummocked
you walk the long walk back home
no longer trusting the cracks in the river ice.
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