Brunswick

In the summer all the old men

They sit on their front porches

While the women comb

Their hair shell their peas

And wonder what they've missed

And the forlorn children scan the streets

For wayward dogs with fading torches

It's no amazing sight

It's something that I miss

I still hear the trucks

As they crunch their gears

Going through the lanes

And curse all folk who get stuck in their way

And the roaring forklift starting up

At 7am of a weekday morning

How I cursed them then now

I see things another way

And if I see things through a hallowed gaze

Well is it such a crime

When I ain't been to

Brunswick for a long long time

There was a kind word you could get

>From the man who ran the milk bar

And a rough one from the old bloke

Who lived across the road and though

The footpaths stank with the refuse

Of overfed Alsatians

The air was rife with Tip Top Bread

The baker's morning load

And if I see things

Through a hallowed gaze

Well is it such a crime

When I ain't been to

Brunswick for a long long time

And there's a cottage I think of

Sometimes when

I've been drinking

And in the bottom of my glass

I see a life I've missed

Of summer walks and well trained dogs

And plenty of time for thinking

So just don't bother asking why the hell

I'm always pissed

But if I see things through a hallowed gaze

Well is it such a crime

When I ain't been to Brunswick

No I ain't been to Brunswick

I ain't been nowhere near

It for a long long time