The time I think most clearly
the time I drift away
is on the busride
that meanders
up these valleys of green and grey.

I get to think about what might have been
and what may yet come true
and I get to pass the rainy mile
thinking of you.
And all the while, all the while
I still hear that call
to the land of gold and poison
that which beckons to us all.
Nothing changes here very much
you used to say it never will.
The pubs are all full on friday nights
and things get started still.
We spent hours last week with Billy-Boy
bleeding, yeah, queuing in casualty,
staring at those posters we used to laugh at,
Never-neverland, palm trees by the sea.
Well, there was no need for those guys to hurt him so bad
when all they had to do was knock him down.
But no one asks to many questions like that anymore
since you left this town.

And tomorrow brings another train,
another young brave steals away.
But you´re the one I remember
from these valleys of the green and the grey.

You used to talk about winners and losers all the time
as if that was all there was.
As if we were not of the same blood family,
as if we lived by different laws.
Do you owe so much less to these rain swept hills
than you owe to your good self?
Is it true that the world has always got to be something
that seems to happen somewhere else?
For God´s sake,
don´t you realize
that I still hear that call?
Do you think you´re so brave
just to go running
to that which beckons to us all?

And tomorrow brings another train,
another young brave steals away.
But you´re the one I remember
from these valleys of the green and the grey.

No, not for one second
did you look behind you
as you were walking away.
Never once did you wish
any of us well,
those who had chosen to stay.
And if that´s what it takes to make it
in the place where you live today
then I guess you´ll never read one of these letters that I sent
from these valleys of the green and the grey.