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So I walk the city streets, Eastgate, Northgate, Watergate up to the BridgeAnd the city walls that always hemm me inThe book I'm reading has lost appealThe galleries and ice hockey don't grab me at allI've lost interest in the things I shared with youAnd how can I sit through an episode of Hollyoaks when I know it's somehow incomplete without your running commentary?And how can I find the joy in 80s pop music when the whole disposable façade relies on sing-alongs with someone else?And every evening without fail, we'd browse the Evening Leader or the ChronicleAnd take comfort in the things that pass as newsBut where's the fun in current affairs with no accomplice here to share the satire withIt's just a trivial page of local newsAnd how can I dream up ill-advised new recipes, when I know the sole enjoyment lied in laughing at our shared mistakesAnd where does the excitement lie in tasting all the Tesco wines, when I know despite my best attempts, I'll never quite keep up with them aloneAnd the high street's painted black and whiteLike the architects predicted nothing to celebrateAnd nothing to write home about tonightAnd the railways station's closing downAnd the trams don't run here anymoreAnd I've ground to a haltWith nothing to write home about tonightSave for the words, that you saidLetras de canciones"I can only disappoint you"That's perceptive, I'm sureExcept I've heard it beforeLocal boy who made goodThen left townFor a flat by the riverWith a Chateau Neuf Du PapeAnd a box set of dreamsThat came through early doors From Letras Mania