BLEACHED

Too Much (feat. DEAN)

// Original vocals John 'Zac' Hill
// Music, lyrics & mix by Guiville
--
The rain hit the pavement, cold and grey,
Running through the council estate,
Me and my brothers, out all day,
Living off laughter, crisps, and fate.

Dad’s old Ford, rusting in the drive,
Mum’s vinyl spinning, keeping us alive,
Bowie and Boland sang us to sleep,
Dreams in the static, memories deep.

Oh, the echoes of the past still call my name,
Flickering like old TV flames,
From hiding in fields to the corner shop,
Time moves on, but the past won’t stop.

Saturday mornings, sweet and slow,
Kicking a ball where the wild grass grows,
Stealing a smoke behind the shed,
Tales of tomorrow filling our heads.

Dad’s old Ford, rusting in the drive,
Mum’s vinyl spinning, keeping us alive,
Punk on the telly, disco at dawn,
We never knew we’d soon be gone.

Oh, the echoes of the past still call my name,
Flickering like old TV flames,
From hiding in fields to the corner shop,
Time moves on, but the past won’t stop.

Letters from school, old scuffs on my knees,
The smell of the chippy still rides on the breeze,
Brothers in battle, but brothers in arms,
Now only shadows remain in the calm.

And if I could, I’d go back again,
To rainy streets and childhood friends,
But the echoes fade, the years move fast,
Still, I hold on to the echoes of the past.

Poem (Shhh)

Colde

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