"Fast car" is kind of a continuation of Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run." It has all the clawing your way to a better life, but in this case the protagonist never makes it with her love; in fact she is dragged back down by him.
There is still an amazing amount of hope and will in the lyrics; and the lyrics themselve rank and easy five. If only music was stronger it would be one of those great radio songs that you hear once a week 20 years after it was released. The imagery is almost tear-jerking ("City lights lay out before us", "Speeds so fast felt like I was drunk"), and the idea of starting from nothing and just driving and working and denigrating yourself for a chance at being just above poverty, then losing in the end is just painful and inspiring at the same time.
Boxing night
I celebrate in style, in boxer shorts and spirits
Floor littered with ghosts of bottles past
There’s a naked hush, clothed only in breath and a pulse
Of a heart that is kicking as though it is desperate to be born
I am hostage blind, deaf to the din outside
Good Glasgow could burn to its timber tonight, I’d barely blink an eye
Well the clock just stopped, you can cut that into my headstone
Won’t something move so I stop staring a hole into the phone?
You can get me at home
With a drink to ill health
Just me and these walls
And a beaten up chair
On boxing day
This is boxing night, and someone lost an eye
I swear I’ve lost the last drop of whatever kept me awake, alive
Well I fell in the Forth from a heavy right hook
To a blushed and swollen face
In a single blow it’s murdered and then it takes years to waste away
I can’t call you all mine anymore
I can’t call you, full stop
But you know you can call me up anytime
Call me whatever the fuck you want
You can get me at home
With a drink to ill health
Just me and these walls
And a beaten up chair
You can get me at home
With a drink to ill health
Just me and these walls
And a beaten up chair
On boxing day
I celebrate in style, in boxer shorts and spirits
Floor littered with ghosts of bottles past
There’s a naked hush, clothed only in breath and a pulse
Of a heart that is kicking as though it is desperate to be born
I am hostage blind, deaf to the din outside
Good Glasgow could burn to its timber tonight, I’d barely blink an eye
Well the clock just stopped, you can cut that into my headstone
Won’t something move so I stop staring a hole into the phone?
You can get me at home
With a drink to ill health
Just me and these walls
And a beaten up chair
On boxing day
This is boxing night, and someone lost an eye
I swear I’ve lost the last drop of whatever kept me awake, alive
Well I fell in the Forth from a heavy right hook
To a blushed and swollen face
In a single blow it’s murdered and then it takes years to waste away
I can’t call you all mine anymore
I can’t call you, full stop
But you know you can call me up anytime
Call me whatever the fuck you want
You can get me at home
With a drink to ill health
Just me and these walls
And a beaten up chair
You can get me at home
With a drink to ill health
Just me and these walls
And a beaten up chair
On boxing day
Lyrics submitted by genarobertson
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