Hide on the promenade, scratch out a postcard; "How I dearly with I was not here". In the seaside town that they forgot to bomb; Come, come, come - nuclear bomb. Everyday is like Sunday, everyday is silent and grey. Trudging back over pebbles and sand and a strange dust lands on your hands, and on your face. Everyday is like Sunday, win yourself a cheap tray. Share some greased tea with me, everyday is silent and grey.
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