Subbuteo

Hello, my chum It's me and I'm banging on your door It's been far too long Since we set the leaves alight down on the floor I've returned for a while To the concrete that once claimed my knees And the stones my hands owned As I sent them toward windows and trees Towering trees Towering trees There are bangers in the wheely bins Laser pens shone through the glass And BB after BB fired From behind the wall beyond the grass And though boots met my face And knuckles cracked me black as coal I care not for the mindless Who poked fear at my sorry soul My soul My soul And I miss the rain on the roof Pitstop paths and whistling streams I miss the cold stream chips The red subbuteo team painted green Built on back fields, It seemed a thorn in my child side Instead became a grit-soaked playground Where the propers and the poor collide Oh, it might sound dull But dull's sometimes all we have Yeah, it might sound dull But dull's all we ever have Sometimes I talk with the meter Of a bingo caller's east-end drawl Who cares; we're all just trying to float While everything seems set to fall So hard So hard