There's no mistake

I smell that smell

It's that time of year again

I can taste the air

The clocks go back

Railway track

Something blocks the line again

And the train runs late for the first time.

A pebble beach,

We're underneath Pier had just been painted red

Where I heard the news for the first time

And all the friends lay down the flowers

Sit on the banks and drink for hours

Talk of the way they saw him last

Local boy in the photograph . . . today

He'll always be 23

Yet the train runs on and on

Past the place they found his clothing

There's no mistake

I smell that smell

It's that time of year again

I can taste the air

The clocks go back railway track

Something blocks the line again

and the train runs late for the first time today

And all the friends lay down the flowers

Sit on the banks and drink for hours

Talk of the way they saw him last

Local boy in the photograph . . . today

He's gone away