The time i think most clearly, the time i drift away
is on the bus-ride that meanders up these valleys of green and grey
i get to think about what might have been and what may yet come true
and i get to pass a rainy mile thinking of you
and all the while, all the while, i still hear that call
to the land of gold and poison that beckons to us all
nothing changes here very much, i guess you'd say it never will
the pubs are all full on friday nights and things get started still
we spent hours last week with billy boy, bleeding, yeah queuing in casualty
staring at those posters we used to laugh at:
never never land, palm trees by the sea
well there was no need for those guys to hurt him so bad
when all they had to do was knock him down
but no one asks to many questions like that since you left this town
Ch: and tomorrow brings another train
another young brave steals away
but you're the one i remember
from these valleys of green and the grey
You used to talk about winners and losers all the time - as if that was all there was
as if we were not of the same blood family, as if we live by different laws
do you owe so much less to these rain swept hills than you owe to your good self?
is it true that the world has always got to be something
that seems to happen somewhere else?
for god's sake don't you realise that i still hear that call
do you think you're so brave just to go running to that which beckons to us all?
Ch: no, not for one second did you look behind you
as you were walking away
never once did you wish any of us well
those who had chosen to stay
and if that's what it takes to make it
in the place that you live today
then i guess you'll never read these letters that i send
from the valleys of the green and the grey