This one goes out to Gemma Evans and my vague attempts to tie threads together. Signing napkins and swapping stories in a bar in Tokyo. Shibuya sleeps as Solihull weeps for the coke in the clubs and the fights on the street. Every exit feels like retreat, I’m just glad we both escaped, (and we can talk about it.) Oh you can keep those days. Remind me why I couldn’t stay. How quickly the resentment fades, when you know yr never coming back here. You can always trust those Solihull girls to walk out when the timing’s bad. And there’s never a good time, never a good time. Says something when those Solihull girls are complaing that yr bands just sound like a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy. So this one goes out to some kids in Snobs, still fighting the floor when the battle is lost. Every playlist came with a cost; you got the Peace that you deserved. So give me a scene that can carry it’s weight, or give me a scene that’ll give it me straight. Wait, no. Give me a scene where the hype comes last, and a night bus that just comes. (and they’ll talk about us) So you can keep those nights. This war you think you have to fight. How easily the guilt subsides, when you know yr never coming back here. You can always trust those Solihull girls to walk out when the timing’s bad. And there’s never a good time, never a good time. Says something when those Solihull girls are complaing that yr story’s just like a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a eurghhhhh.