No Future Hiatus
Boredom
Yeah - well - I say what I mean
I say what comes to my mind
How ‘s that a family livin’ in the West End, with five, well fourth fancy girls ended up havin’ a punker on their lines?
Well I’d love to skip to that part, but you wouldn’t get it not just yet.
Let me tell you a little dirty secret about classes, in fact a dirty little secret ‘bout Landan.
In the 70’s a class was not just a neat title for groups of people. Now there is just rich and poor, and classes ‘ave become just a phrase on Marx books, but back then. Your class was your life.
I never get around to things
I live a straight - straight line
An’ we were not screwed up. Our lovely ‘ouse number 7 on the Molyneux Street was perfectly located for us to grow as charmin’ British girls. The West end was not for the poor under class. My older sisters were stylished, perfect students and lovely girls. I didn’t shine much to be true, at least not yet.
“Mum I’m bored” I said sittin’ down on that thick red rug, they used to ‘ave one like that in all those boutiques, facin’ the large mirror I pouted. I hated shoppin’ an’ I hated Ginger an’ Poppy for the posh frocks they insisted on purchasin’.
You know me - I'm acting dumb
you know the scene - very humdrum
There was gonna be a celebration of the Spring or something as dull on the Park. Yes the park. The famous, so heard Hyde Park. Don’t even question me ‘bout how they got to it. My parent’s friends ‘ad contacts. For adults it was an etiquette party. For youths the theme was Andy Warhol fashion style. Yes this ‘s the part ‘bout me in my hideous upper class surroundings, the process named belongin’.
Josie an’ Annie chased each other ‘round the fancy boutique on that good ol’ Chelsea Borough. The half opened doors of the dressing gowns mirrored two young fancy british girls tryin’ on the frocks of the season. With curly bombed hair styles, a fringe here, a bang there.
boredom
“Too exotic!”
Silk striped piece to the floor.
“Too cheap!”
Small label with pounds sign thrown out.
“Too common!”
boredom
“Girls stop it and Wendy could you please get up you look like a bum” Snapped mum annoyed at my younger siblings and I. Annie stumbled down one of the dresses layin’ on the carpet.
“Mum I’m boreed” said I draggin’ the words like any spoiled twat askin’ for sumthin’ useless an’ impossible, an’ that just the look mum gave me, right in the second Ginger threw another frock out, just sayin’ “Not fit.”
I smirked at mum, an’ remarked “I’m bored mum.” She rolled her eyes and turned around, pickin’ the clothes on the floor. The boutique though small was packed with people all buyin’ posh frocks for special occasions, and such.
I'm living in this movie
but it doesn't move me
“Can I just take a walk?”
She looked hesitantly at me, by this years the wrinkles on her face were not up yet, an’ her looks were good ‘nough for her age, an’ her 5 daughters.
“Okay” she sighed. “But you take Josie with you, back in an hour!” she added, but I was already takin’ Josie by the hand and directin’ to the exit. Bless the Exit! The jingle of the door bein’ closed only reassured me to leave, an’ my trainers were takin’ me to anywhere.
I'm the man that's waiting for the phone to ring
Hear it ring-a-ding-a-f***ing-ding
An hour, bloody delicious sixty minutes of freedom, and hour of me, well an’ Josie.
“Where are we going?” Josie asked squeezin’ my hand with her little one. She had to be the most lovely, an’ cute six year old in Britain.
The sun hit the streets and specially my eyes, which I half closed to avoid the light in. I took my time to answer, but then suddenly I recalled a sector of the city that I really wanted to study out.
You see there's nothing behind me
I'm already a has-been
“You wanna see the river?” I said approachin’ the other side walk with a fortunate red light on my way. The street was alive, but not livin’. There were people mindin’ their own stuff, goin’ here and there. With shoppin’ bags and busy minds.
“Aye!” Josie answered excited and definitely happy to follow my petition.
It wasn’t that I was unfamiliar to the river side, and Chelsea well I knew the borough, but there was a spot. A spot in the furthest east side of it that I hadn’t yet explored, an’ any kid wants to see the unseen.
my future ain't what it was
well I think I know the words that I mean
It was a little quay on the other side of the river, passin’ the Chelsea Bridge. It was a small spot, but mum never liked it. Said some times a few ruffians passed by there, ‘cos Brixton was dangerously close to it. I ‘ad read Dickens an’ ruffians were not my hated kinda people.
And after all I was just bored.
I've taken this extravagant journey
so it seems to me
I just came from nowhere
and I'm going straight back there
I say what comes to my mind
How ‘s that a family livin’ in the West End, with five, well fourth fancy girls ended up havin’ a punker on their lines?
Well I’d love to skip to that part, but you wouldn’t get it not just yet.
Let me tell you a little dirty secret about classes, in fact a dirty little secret ‘bout Landan.
In the 70’s a class was not just a neat title for groups of people. Now there is just rich and poor, and classes ‘ave become just a phrase on Marx books, but back then. Your class was your life.
I never get around to things
I live a straight - straight line
An’ we were not screwed up. Our lovely ‘ouse number 7 on the Molyneux Street was perfectly located for us to grow as charmin’ British girls. The West end was not for the poor under class. My older sisters were stylished, perfect students and lovely girls. I didn’t shine much to be true, at least not yet.
“Mum I’m bored” I said sittin’ down on that thick red rug, they used to ‘ave one like that in all those boutiques, facin’ the large mirror I pouted. I hated shoppin’ an’ I hated Ginger an’ Poppy for the posh frocks they insisted on purchasin’.
You know me - I'm acting dumb
you know the scene - very humdrum
There was gonna be a celebration of the Spring or something as dull on the Park. Yes the park. The famous, so heard Hyde Park. Don’t even question me ‘bout how they got to it. My parent’s friends ‘ad contacts. For adults it was an etiquette party. For youths the theme was Andy Warhol fashion style. Yes this ‘s the part ‘bout me in my hideous upper class surroundings, the process named belongin’.
Josie an’ Annie chased each other ‘round the fancy boutique on that good ol’ Chelsea Borough. The half opened doors of the dressing gowns mirrored two young fancy british girls tryin’ on the frocks of the season. With curly bombed hair styles, a fringe here, a bang there.
boredom
“Too exotic!”
Silk striped piece to the floor.
“Too cheap!”
Small label with pounds sign thrown out.
“Too common!”
boredom
“Girls stop it and Wendy could you please get up you look like a bum” Snapped mum annoyed at my younger siblings and I. Annie stumbled down one of the dresses layin’ on the carpet.
“Mum I’m boreed” said I draggin’ the words like any spoiled twat askin’ for sumthin’ useless an’ impossible, an’ that just the look mum gave me, right in the second Ginger threw another frock out, just sayin’ “Not fit.”
I smirked at mum, an’ remarked “I’m bored mum.” She rolled her eyes and turned around, pickin’ the clothes on the floor. The boutique though small was packed with people all buyin’ posh frocks for special occasions, and such.
I'm living in this movie
but it doesn't move me
“Can I just take a walk?”
She looked hesitantly at me, by this years the wrinkles on her face were not up yet, an’ her looks were good ‘nough for her age, an’ her 5 daughters.
“Okay” she sighed. “But you take Josie with you, back in an hour!” she added, but I was already takin’ Josie by the hand and directin’ to the exit. Bless the Exit! The jingle of the door bein’ closed only reassured me to leave, an’ my trainers were takin’ me to anywhere.
I'm the man that's waiting for the phone to ring
Hear it ring-a-ding-a-f***ing-ding
An hour, bloody delicious sixty minutes of freedom, and hour of me, well an’ Josie.
“Where are we going?” Josie asked squeezin’ my hand with her little one. She had to be the most lovely, an’ cute six year old in Britain.
The sun hit the streets and specially my eyes, which I half closed to avoid the light in. I took my time to answer, but then suddenly I recalled a sector of the city that I really wanted to study out.
You see there's nothing behind me
I'm already a has-been
“You wanna see the river?” I said approachin’ the other side walk with a fortunate red light on my way. The street was alive, but not livin’. There were people mindin’ their own stuff, goin’ here and there. With shoppin’ bags and busy minds.
“Aye!” Josie answered excited and definitely happy to follow my petition.
It wasn’t that I was unfamiliar to the river side, and Chelsea well I knew the borough, but there was a spot. A spot in the furthest east side of it that I hadn’t yet explored, an’ any kid wants to see the unseen.
my future ain't what it was
well I think I know the words that I mean
It was a little quay on the other side of the river, passin’ the Chelsea Bridge. It was a small spot, but mum never liked it. Said some times a few ruffians passed by there, ‘cos Brixton was dangerously close to it. I ‘ad read Dickens an’ ruffians were not my hated kinda people.
And after all I was just bored.
I've taken this extravagant journey
so it seems to me
I just came from nowhere
and I'm going straight back there
♠ ♠ ♠
I know that this one kinda REALLY suuuuuck. But I promise its only a prelude for next chapter. I'm also sorry for having took so much time to update.