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My Finest Hour - The Sundays
And the world it shows me up
My clothes they show me up
I never knew this before
My finest hour that I've ever known
Was finding a pound on the underground
And my words came stumbling out
And then I went tumbling out
I've never been hit before
And the finest hour that I've ever known
Was finding a pound on the underground
And I keep hoping you are the same as me
And I'll send you letters
And come to your house for tea
We are who we are what do the others know
But poetry is not for me
So show me the way to go home
And the words came stumbling
Out of my mouth
And I went tumbling out here no no
But I keep hoping you are the same as me
And I'll send you letters
And come to your house for tea
We are who we are what do the others know
But poetry is not for me
So show me the way to go
Oh I'm going home
But I keep hoping you are the only one
Yes and I'll send you letters
Oh wouldn't it be such fun
We are who we are whatever the others say
But poetry is not for me
And much as I'd like to stay
Oh I just want to go home
You're you're you're too young
Should've been you're you're you're too young
It should've been you're too you're too
You're too young
It should've been you you you're too young
You should've been safer saner
Barred the doors and then sat down
Ooh you're you're you're too young
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