I’m imagining rippling fingers on keys
Miming it wild on a cold stone table
Picturing and wishing for home and jiggling my knees
Send an urgent cable
Dickhead’s done a runner and he’s wondering
If anyone cares
Is the landing light on
Back to the pebbles that mum’s eggs hatched in
Give me her perfume
Give me her prayers and advice
Hands up if you’ve never seen the sea
I’m from a land with an island status
Makes us think that everyone hates us
Maybe darling they do
But they haven’t met you
They only know the villains at the tiller
And they gambled the farm on a headline
Jesus, getting harder to see what they’re doing ‘til it’s done
And they’re never gonna make an arrest on Fleet Street
Yes and I’m given to believing in love
I’ve written the word in my blood
And I perch on a shelf of the K2
Made of the believers that
Love, opens the fist just enough for a hand
To slip into the hand
I’ve been asleep in the woods with a mother to be
Planning on a static caravan in the Andes
Making a break with the steel magpie on the rise
Defeat in our time or do we
Meet on the street again due to the few?
Batter it out and refresh vendetta
Better surely to pause
Consider the path
It’s full of blood, snot and teeth and the glory of no one
Hands up if you’ve never seen the sea
We’re from a place with an island status
Queuing round the corner for a pencil and paper again
Come the virus of virii
God send us to a digital end
With following strangers and swiping at friends
I’ll send you a postcard
See you in Hull
In a sweater made of Atacama llama wool
Yes and I’m given to believing in love
I’ve written the word in my blood
And I perch on a shelf of the K2
Made of the believers that
Love, opens the fist just enough for a hand
To slip into the hand
Yes and I’m given to believing in love
I’ve written the word in my blood
I’ve seen it make a heaven of
Backstreet, bedsit and bomb site living room
Love, opens the fist just enough for a hand
To slip into the hand, to slip into the hand
Miming it wild on a cold stone table
Picturing and wishing for home and jiggling my knees
Send an urgent cable
If anyone cares
Is the landing light on
Back to the pebbles that mum’s eggs hatched in
Give me her perfume
Give me her prayers and advice
I’m from a land with an island status
Makes us think that everyone hates us
Maybe darling they do
But they haven’t met you
They only know the villains at the tiller
And they gambled the farm on a headline
And they’re never gonna make an arrest on Fleet Street
I’ve written the word in my blood
And I perch on a shelf of the K2
Made of the believers that
Love, opens the fist just enough for a hand
To slip into the hand
Planning on a static caravan in the Andes
Making a break with the steel magpie on the rise
Defeat in our time or do we
Meet on the street again due to the few?
Batter it out and refresh vendetta
Better surely to pause
Consider the path
It’s full of blood, snot and teeth and the glory of no one
We’re from a place with an island status
Queuing round the corner for a pencil and paper again
Come the virus of virii
God send us to a digital end
With following strangers and swiping at friends
I’ll send you a postcard
See you in Hull
In a sweater made of Atacama llama wool
I’ve written the word in my blood
And I perch on a shelf of the K2
Made of the believers that
Love, opens the fist just enough for a hand
To slip into the hand
I’ve written the word in my blood
I’ve seen it make a heaven of
Backstreet, bedsit and bomb site living room
Love, opens the fist just enough for a hand
To slip into the hand, to slip into the hand
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This whole song, as with many songs on the albums, is about Brexit and the horrible and uncertain way 2016 changed for so many. K2 is a reference to the 48% of people who voted to remain in the EU, being the only slightly second highest mountain.
The 'hand' refrain in the chorus is about challenging the hatred and vitriol that engulfed the Leave campaign, and the horrible events (racial attacks, especially) that occurred in the aftermath of this vote. Guy, who is 'given to believing in love,' (note the near-reluctance, the tension in that line), is finding his natural empathy and understanding has almost deserted him, and is desperately seeking a way to bridge the divide between his own, perhaps more liberal, beliefs with those of the 52% he wholeheartedly disagrees with. It's an almost biblical challenge, but one that his humanity is striving to overcome.
And the 'In a sweater made of Atacama llama wool' is such perfect poetry. Larkin-esque and utterly brilliant.
I could write more. These are wonderful words.
@Viking_DownSouth At least one of the verses seems to refer to social media.
@Viking_DownSouth At least one of the verses seems to refer to social media.
God send us to a digital end With following strangers and swiping at friends I'll send you a postcard See you in Hull
God send us to a digital end With following strangers and swiping at friends I'll send you a postcard See you in Hull
@Viking_DownSouth Superb breakdown of this exquisite song, thanks! I especially love the zoom out from the intimately personal to the national zeitgeist and back: "Back to the pebbles that mum’s eggs hatched in Give me her perfume, give me her prayers and advice Hands up if you’ve never seen the sea I’m from a land with an island status Makes us think that everyone hates us, maybe darling they do But they haven’t met you"
@Viking_DownSouth Superb breakdown of this exquisite song, thanks! I especially love the zoom out from the intimately personal to the national zeitgeist and back: "Back to the pebbles that mum’s eggs hatched in Give me her perfume, give me her prayers and advice Hands up if you’ve never seen the sea I’m from a land with an island status Makes us think that everyone hates us, maybe darling they do But they haven’t met you"