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The View from Stow Hill

de Manic Street Preachers

How did this town get so old
The air I breathe feels so heavy and cold
Always caught in between
The capital and the ‘other’ country
Always caught in between
The river and the valley

You can still see the bullet holes
You can still sense a little hope
Crushed dreams and the martyrs too
Silent-ghostly still so confused

Look up to the skies avoid the casual litter
Running from the pitiful nihilism
The misguided tweets the sad facebooking
Cheapness surrounds me but I’m not looking

Look up to the skies avoid the casual litter
Running from the pitiful nihilism
The misguided tweets the sad facebooking
Cheapness surrounds me but I’m not looking

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