Period Piece - Lloyd Cole

Mamma I think I might have just met my match

I’m lying here in the dirt — a bunch of artifacts

Ghost stations coming alive as my pulse weakens

And I am not afraid to die

Born 1961 just like you, One hundred fifty five thousand metres- neither

straight not true

Concrete to the left on me, flowers to my rights, these was the best of times

It was my austere demeanor defined the age

Next to me the green world greener and the grey more grey

The old man came, said Destroy this symbolism

Welcome to my funeral West Berlin

You would haved guessed my name by now

My chagrin

These was the best of times

Oh Hansa, my lover

Where will your gaze fall now?

Combat Groups of the Working Classes

Wherefore will you crowd?

Western hedonists mourn my passing daily

These were the best of times

Inanimate I know

I am and I will remain

Cinderblock souvenirs, sold with candy cane

Infiltrating the cabinets of the Western Union

With a promise of better times