Blank page was all the rage
Never meant to say anything
In bed I was half-dead
Tired of dreaming of rest
Got dressed above the state line
Looking for you at the five and dime
Stop sign told me to stay at home
Told me you were not alone
Blank page was all the rage
Never meant to hurt anyone
In bed I was half-dead
Tired of dreaming of rest
You haven't changed
You're still the same
May you rise as you fall
You were easy, you are forgotten
You are the ways of my mistakes
I catch the rainfall
Through the leaking roof
That you had left behind
You remind me of that leak in my soul
The rain falls, my friends call, leaking rain on the phone
Take a day, plant some trees
May they shade you from me
May your children play beneath
Blank page was all the rage
Never meant to say anything
In bed I was half-dead
Tired of dreaming of rest
Got dressed above the state line
Looking for you at the five and dime
But there I was, picking pieces up
You are a ghost
Of my indecision
No more little girlWritten by: Das, Pandit, Savale, Tailor, Zaman
Union Jack and Union Jill
Back up and down the same old hill
Sell the flag to the youths
But who swallows the bill
"Murdoch she wrote"
Him have his hand in the till
Blairful of Thatcher
Stuck on the 45
The suits have changed
But the old ties survive
New Britannia cool
Who are you trying to fool?
Behind your fashion-tashion I see nothing at all
Care for the commodity
Cuts the nation into three
Rich pickings for the first
Bottom third you never see
While middle England keeps swinging its
loyalty
No concern for the future
Just with dead royalty
So will the real, the real Great Britan
step forward
This is the national identity parade
Shoe gazer nation forever looking
backwards
Time to reject the sixties charade
Not enough schools
Not enough homes
Just "phony care" in his millennium dome
More prime cuts than beef on the bone
And there's too many questions you're
not answering Tone
Union Jack and Union Jill
Back up and down the same old hill
Sell the flag to the youths
But who swallows the bill
"Murdoch she wrote"
Him have his hand in the till
So will the real, the real Great Britan
step forward
This is the national identity parade
Shoe gazer nation forever looking
backwards
Time to reject the sixties charade