Now this is what they get,
This is what this city gets.

Something warm and cosy for the winter.
Maybe if it wasn’t so windy and rainy,
They’d look for a greater reason to drink, gather, and cling onto music.
Some even make love and babies on that kind of record…
Such a pretty convenient fitted music.
Some even praise that kind of local celebrity,
Musician, comedian, TV presenter…
Just because they broke national.

This is the worst hype a city can get.
And that’s the one they accept.

But when you think they could have gotten you,
Don’t you feel any little shame sometimes ?
Not for your self-indulgence,
But the fact you let down a whole city,
To end up another gloomy outsider,
Gone for the wild, and the barfly stories.

You let down the devouts,
Cause you thought you know it all better.
And now you know it all alone, mostly.

It’s a shame indeed,
Not the shame of one who’s vain or pathetic,
Who’s flying higher than his wings.
It’s a shame not to be a prophet,
Some corner prophet at least,
When you’re bound to become one.

It’s a shame not to succeed,
When you know someone must and will in the end.
Don’t let the cool bastard run the game,
Don’t let the bad guy take the shy dreamy girl,
Don’t ever let « nice » be mistaken for « great ».
Don’t let the ones who could believe,
Be satisfied with passivity.


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