Альбом Frank Turner

I woke up on a sofa in an unfamiliar house, surrounded by sleeping folks I didn't know.
On failing to find my friends, I decided that it was clearly time to go.
So I made my way out of the door as quietly as I could - there was no one there I knew to say goodbye,
Squinting in the sadly sobering sunshine of the Sunday morning light.

I started the night with all my friends and I ended up alone.
Oh yes I started out so happy now I'm hungover and down.
It was about then that I realized I was half-way through the best years of my life.

I scanned the local landmarks, trying to find out where I was, and maybe even find a bus back home,
I was longing for a shower, and for clean sheets, and a charger for my phone.
Suddenly it hit me - I got paid this Friday last, so I rifled through my pockets for some change.
But all I found was a packet of broken cigarettes and a sinking sense of shame.


I started the night with all my friends and I ended up alone.
Oh yes I started out so happy now I'm hungover and down.
It was about then that I realized that I was half-way through the best years of my life.
I had to ask myself well
Is it really worth it? Is any of this worth it?
Well the whole thing's far from perfect,
But I've yet to figure out a better way to spend my time.

Too many suits and dirty looks made me rack my brains - the real damage started to sink in.
It'd been quite a heavy weekend and I could just about remember where I'd been.
Well I started the night with all my friends and I ended up alone,
Oh yes I started out so happy now I'm hungover and down.
I stood on a street corner and I felt a little sick.
It was about then that I realized I was halfway through the first day of the week.

This country is my canvas –
I leave paint trails as I go.
I’m painting a picture
That you can only see from outer space.
My bedroom is your sofa,
I take my breakfast on the train.
I’m tired and I’m dirty, and not a second goes to waste.

I’ll be dead but never dying, and I say that with a smile
It’s just my way of trying to be alive.

Well I’ll never get to grey hair
And I’ll never be in the black,
But I can tell stories that most can hardly dream.
Dreaming is a luxury,
Like stopping-staring and beauty sleep.
I’ll stop when I’m finished,
And sleep is for the weak.

Heaven’s in the half-light, and that’s where I reside,
A whiskey and a wry smile –
I check my vital signs.

And when I’m gone,
The worlds revolve, and life goes on,
So mark no grave,
Forget my name.
If the song remains
And everybody’s got a drink and a smile,
Well, that’s just fine by me.

I have to admit that I am one of the many
Who thought that a guitar would win him a lady.
My teenage years, they were a feminine drought,
And I thought that a serenade would help out.
And it seemed to be working for a couple of years –
I wrote a few songs and they wrought a few tears.
But when I hit my twenties, it ran out of steam.
I seemed to be suffering from romantic fatigue.

And I never know which song I should play her –
Each melody is a memory of a not-forgotten failure.
So when I get out my guitar tonight to do what I do,
Remember, I probably didn’t write this song for you.

So as I have mentioned, the shelf-life was short.
The scheme wasn’t working, despite what I thought.
The ladies all left me alone in the end,
So I had to switch all the names around and then sing it again.

And every life-long love, and every best friend,
Slipped away into the past.
Take my words with caution – I can’t pretend that you’re the first,
You won’t be the last.

I never know which song I should play her –
Each melody is a memory of a not-forgotten failure.
So when I get out my guitar tonight to do what I do,
Remember, I probably didn’t write this song,
No I certainly didn’t write this song,
No I never, never wrote a song for you.

It hadn’t been a day when everything had turned out right –
She called me up and asked me to come over in the night,
To make her cups of tea and listen quietly as she starts
To list the latest list of bastards who have trampled on her heart.

I see her in the nightclubs, I see her in the bars,
At rooftop after-parties, or crammed into friends’ cars,
And we talk about the weather, and how she drowns her pain in drink,
And I nod and never ever dare to tell her what I think.

She summers by my seas
But winters without me,
And she cries into her tea
That she’s secretly lonely.
And oh me, what am I to do?
It’s obvious to me,
But she never seems to see
That it’s not about the days when everything has turned out right,
No it’s more about the moments when she calls me in the night
To make her cups of tea and wash the weary worries from her head
And then to draw the pain out slowly as I put her into bed.

And I slip this information
Into all our conversations
But she never seems to listen
And she never seems to see.

When I was sixteen I cut myself a Mohawk,
Because I wanted to walk the walk,
And not just talk the talk,
But it was a bit of a disaster because
I did the sides with kitchen scissors,
Because I didn’t have any clippers,
And I didn’t want to use a beard-trimmer –
I’d made that mistake before.

When you got home you didn’t want to talk about what I’d done.
You said I’d let you down, I’d fucked around, when I was only having fun.
With the way that you’ve been lately, you’ve no right to scream and shout.
You and I, we’ve got a lot that we need to talk about.

What’s the point in making vows that you’re never going to keep?
A lifetime lying awake means you’ll never get to sleep.
And all the promises you made, that were painful and untrue,
Of all the things you do they reflect worst on you.

We all have our own devices
For handling mid-life crises –
Usually involves a motorbike and
Suspicious fashion decisions.
But you choose to stave off grey hairs by
Lamely hacking at the sides
With lies and flimsy alibis
For your suspicious expeditions.

When I get home I don’t want to talk about what you’ve done.
Yes you’ve let me down, you’ve fucked around, but I guess you were having fun.
With the way that I’ve been lately, I’ve no right to scream and shout.
You and I, we’ve got a lot that we need to talk about.

You always told me Father’s Day was just another way
Of selling Hallmark greeting cards
Twenty Years of waking sleep, of lying through your teeth,
Meant every Father’s Day spent wondering who the hell you are.

What’s the point in us making vows that we’re never going to keep?
I keep trying to keep you up, but you keep on falling asleep.
And all the promises we made were painful and untrue,
But for better or for worse, I am turning into you.

Honestly, relax my dear it's clear that we are done
It doesn't take a scientist to figure out that one
It's obvious the way you move the way you hold your head
The way you hide your pretty eyes and shift across the bed

You say worse things happen at sea
I say worse things have happened to me

Honestly I'll be fine, this isn't my first time
I've taken blows before and every time I have survived
you made it clear you didn't care you never did pretend
And in the end at least you never try to fuck my friends

You say worse things happen at sea
I said worse things have happened to me
Bitter eyes the bedroom floor
And we're not gonna talk anymore

Well honestly it doesnt matter I know better than
To cry over spilt milk wasted effort spoilt plans
We're adults here so shed no tears I'm sure we can be friends
I'll nod and smile and watch you in the arms of other men

You say worse things happen at sea
I say worse things have happened to me
Bitter eyes the bedroom floor
And we're not gonna talk anymore
We got nothing to talk for

Well honestly your honesty it has emerged unscathed
And I hope you're doin fine
Well me I'm doin fucking great
And I wouldnt want to waste another second of your time
I know your face I know my place
So you watch yours I'll keep to mine

They say worse things happen at see
I said worse things have happened to me
Bitter eyes the bedroom floor
And were not gonna talk anymore
We got nothing to talk for
You got nothing to be sorry for
I got noone to care for

This is the worst thing that's happened to me
I guess worse things happen at sea

Would you pick your clothes up, put your clothes on,
Pack your things and go?
I’m tired of sinking this low.
Awkward semi-naked coffee conversations fade
Quicker than mistakes that were made.
Mornings when I’m coming down, being driven round the bend,
Make for days when I’m losing my friends
For all the little things that I have done and cannot make amends.

Don’t you ever kind of wish that the world would just stop?
That the band would pack up and the curtain would drop?
I’ve been stuck inside the same old nights, the same old days off,
And I need you now because I can’t get out of this.

Clean your mirrors, roll your notes out,
Put your cards away.
That’s a game that I don’t want to play anymore.
My head is sore, my throat is raw, and what’s more
I’m fifty pounds down to feel empty and poor,
Remembering the things that I believed when I was sober and sure.

And I’m trying to speak straight,
But I’m drunk and I’m lonely and you won’t believe me,
And I’m trying to see straight,
But I’ve been up for days and it scares you away,
And I’m trying to keep straight,
But I’d trade it all for just five minutes more
Of your wandering hands with their simple demands that are
All the things I ever wanted, better than the powder and pills,
All the things I ever needed, the only thing that doesn’t seem to kill,
That still makes me smile.

So if I tell you all the little things that I think that I need,
Will you tell me how to tell the world from the woods from the trees?
Because I’ve been stuck inside my comforting familiar disease,
And I need you now because I can’t get out,
And all over Europe the lights are going out,
And I’m pulling down the curtain, but every time I reach out
You’re gone.

When I was just a skinny lad on holiday by the sea,
I met a girl in a Rancid shirt, and a tape she gave to me
With the Black Flag First Four Years and the Minor Threat Discography,
And punk rock saved my life.
Going down the Red Eye back in 1998,
Hanging out with Household Names and staying out too late,
This angry adolescent found an outlet for his hate,
And punk rock saved my life.

The vision wasn’t perfect and we knew it all along,
We dressed like fucking idiots and got our facts all wrong.
But everyone must needs be an extremist when they’re young –
Fucking with your parents makes you grow up big and strong.

Folding zines and record sleeves while sitting round at home,
Flicking through the catalogues and distros at the shows,
Circle pits and sing-a-longs, come on let’s fucking go,
And punk rock saved my life.

That little dream is over, it was never going to last.
Everybody’s moved along and it’s all in the past,
But when I was just 16 I pinned my colours to the mast.
And punk rock’s in the ink that’s in my skin,
The attitude in every song I sing,
And we didn’t change the world, we didn’t win,
We probably didn’t even save my life, it’s true
But I bet we had a better time than you.

Demonstrations got boring,
Well it was obvious that the government was ignoring us
It’s hard to drag yourself through empty streets
On an empty stomach with no sleep
The shortcomings got clearer
As the price we paid got dearer and dearer
It’s supposed to be a case of give and take
Well I was feeling the give and making the mistake
And I’ve heard it said the unexamined life,
Isn’t much worth living, and I’m sure they’re right
But it’s hard to keep on fighting the good fight
When no one else seems bothered
Yeah, when no one’s on your side

Because I’m young enough to be all pissed off
But I’m old enough to be jaded
I’m at the age where I want things to change
But with age my hopes have faded
I’m young and bored of being young and bored
If I was old I could say I’ve seen it all before
In short; I’m tired of giving a shit

I’ve got friends who are bankers
And it’s an easy rhyme to call them wankers
But I must say I envy the way that they live
And it’s all; it’s all take and no give
Well I’m playing the lone ranger
Riding to the rescue with 6 billion strangers
Armed with only an original song
And a sense that something’s wrong

And I must admit that I’m tired of saying no, all the time
Well I must admit that I don’t really know what would be right

And if politics, is helping all the people
Then my political career is pretty fucked
Because the truth is I don’t like people all that much

The times they aren’t a-changing
Yeah England’s still shit, and it’s still raining
And everybody’s jaded and tired and bored
And no one lifts a finger, because
It’s just not in our culture
Our culture is carryin’
And we’re all vultures
And no one seems bothered by the state of play
It seems that the stench is with us to stay
So I had a go, I tried examining life
It wasn’t much worth living
I guess they’re right
And I’m tired of fighting a fight that’s not my fight
So is everybody else, we’re all on the same side.

Because I’m young enough to be all pissed off
But I’m old enough to be jaded
I’m at the age where I want things to change
But with age my hopes have faded
I’m young and bored of being young and bored
If I was old I could say I’ve seen it all before
In short; I’m tired
And in short; I’m probably fired
If the revolution doesn’t want me, I don’t give a shit.

It’s been eighteen months since I kissed you once,
So just saying “hi” just isn’t going to fly,
But if you give me a clue and a minute or two,
Then I might remember your name.
And I hate to insist that I was really that pissed,
But to tell the truth, in my flush of youth,
I would drown my sight until faces and nights seemed the same.
And a nervous shrug and an awkward hug
Won’t get me out of the hole that I’ve dug,
So I slip the noose with a poor excuse
And talk to someone, anyone else.
And I sit with my friends and I try to pretend
That I never did that sort of thing again,
But I’m lying to myself.

And suddenly it’s as clear as clear could be:
I’m not quite the perfect man that I hoped I’d be.
And though I always tried to live an honest life,
To tell my truth I’ve told my share of lies.

I remember you, of course I do,
But I don’t recall how many times we’ve been through
This little game, that always ends the same,
With you sad and me far away.
And every time I repeat the line
That the fault’s not mine and I wasn’t unkind.
But the worst part is that I’ve got nothing else to say.

And all the pretty little pictures of faith and firm devotion
That I painted as a child,
Well they have fallen by the wayside, along with all my puppy-fat,
But my days have taught me this:
That every day I spend pretending that I always choose the right path
Is a day that I choose the wrong.

Oh yes my wisdom teeth have been giving me grief –
They woke me up to find that I’m exactly the kind of
Guy I said that I’d rather be dead than be
In the days before I got laid.

There’s so many beautiful girls in here tonight,
I can hardly stand it.
Where do they go during the day?
Who the hell do they go home with at the end of the night?
I don’t understand it.
They never go home with me.

You dance as if you’re hours away from death,
You’re wearing too much make-up and showing too much flesh,
And you smile a smile to take away my breath,
Because tonight, and only tonight, you know you’re the best.

The ladies of London town
Go flowing through these streets like water
Running little streams down to the river.
They wash the dirty ground, they sweep me off my feet,
But like an English summer, they’ll soon be gone forever.

I’ve seen you trawling Camden at 4am,
Outside of the clubnight,
Deciding whose house will hold a free-for-all.
I’ve followed you back to mansions and I’ve met all your friends
Under the streetlights
But I can never recall what you’re called.

You dance, you sweat,
Your glance is met,
And you hold my gaze a bit,
And pretend you never did,
And I’m left standing on my own.

The ladies of London town throw one last glance over their shoulders,
Blow a kiss, and then they’re gone forever.

Mother loves me still despite
My failing health and lack of drive.
Shame on me, I could be so much better than I am.

Songs unfinished, post unopened,
Clothes unwashed and vows now broken.
Shame on me, I could be so much better than I am.

If I could just relax, then I could admit
That I don’t know what I want, but this is not it.
If I could just recall the dreams I had as a kid,
If I could just relax, if I could let my guard slip,
I’d be such a winner.

Everybody’s got themselves a plan,
Everybody thinks they’ll be the man, including the girls.
The musicians who lack the friends to form a band are singer-songwriters,
The rest of us are DJ’s or official club photographers.
And tonight I’m playing another Nambucca show,
So I’m going through my phonebook, texting everyone I know,
And I quite a few I don’t, whose numbers found their way into my phone,
But they might come along anyway, you never really know.

None of this is going anywhere –
Pretty soon we’ll all be old,
And no one left alive will really care
About our glory days, when we sold our souls.

But if you’re all about the destination, then take a fucking flight.
We’re going nowhere slowly, but we’re seeing all the sights.
And we’re definitely going to hell,
But we’ll have all the best stories to tell.