Local Boy In The Photograph

There’s no mistake, I smell that smell,
It’s that time of year again, I can taste the air
The clock’s go back, railway track,
Something blocks the line again,
And the train runs late for the first time,

A pebble beach, we’re underneath,
A pier just been painted red
Where I hear the news for the first time

And all the friends lay down their flowers,
Sit on the banks and drink for hours
Talk of the way they saw him last,
Local boy in the photograph today

He’ll always be twenty three,
Yet the train runs on and on,
Past the place they found his clothing
Bah bah bah bah bah
Bah bah bah, bah bah

There’s no mistake, I smell that smell,
It’s that time of year again, I can taste the air
The clock’s go back, railway track,
Something blocks the line again,
And the train runs late for the first time today,

And all the friends lay down their flowers,
Sit on the banks and drink for hours
Talk of the way they saw him last,
Local boy in the photograph, today
He’s gone away