Lyrics:

Some bitter morning will ripen to perfection
Without any warning we’ll walk on out the door
Standing for the last time inside that long,
Dark shadow
Our roof makes an arrow, guiding us away from
Here, the mortgaged half-built edges of
Our lives
Here, where all our hours of loneliness reside
Here, we push thought plate glass doors to
Our desires
But here is where we are, here is where we are

Out in the country, the front seat of creation
Here, we can run free in mud up to our eyes
Into the village, fresh eggs and morning papers
A blackberry alley guides us to our home
But here, suspicion follows every move we make
Here, the faces are all similarly made
Here, protectors of the old ways dominate
But here is where we are, here is where we are

So where is there romance, paradise and
Splendour?
High on a mountain, or down beneath the
Ground?
Where is the here of our imagined nation?
Where is the hand that guides us to our home?
Here is measured out in miniature ways
Here our pleasures count in seconds not in days
Here the romance comes from struggling away and here is where we are
Here is where we are