Ballad of the Times
Narrow streets breed narrow minds and Care for king but not for kind It's a short hop to a long weekend When every move you apprehend You'll never find room to find your feet To walk out of this avenue Your pockets are lined with promises When did you promise ever pay for shoes? Counting coal trucks by the line and Raise your glasses one more time Cause Billy has gone off to war And God knows what he's fighting for But wartime will make him a man Work that no one see, if you can A hero's grave is six feet deep not Room enough for all his plans. She can scrub the step but if he'll never gleam If he did she'd smash the dream And they've held the world too long But dreams are what you wake up from Father was a fighter too The only way to jump the queue Boxing clever, times were tough But will that ever be enough? You'd never find room to find his feet To walk out of these avenues Their pockets are lined with promises When did they promise ever pay for shoes? When did they promise ever pay for shoes?
Written by: BEN WATT
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
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