alan moore – another suburban romance lyrics
[intro]
down here the murders don’t have motives
down here the passions don’t have names
and all of those fire+trap tenements
they stand around like catholic martyrs
they’re just waiting for the flames
[verse 1]
outside, the boys are carving easterhouse sunsets
on each other in the park
and there’s schoolgirls get lost in the heat+haze
break down in reeking subways
like a church of broken hearts
and police fеver cuts through the streets like a knifе
and once you step outside, you’re outside for the rest of your life
[chorus 1]
but what the h+ll? let’s dance
it may not be pretty but it’s word a second glance
another blind alley and a laugh in the dark
another suburban romance
another suburban romance
[verse 2]
there’s love in the tall steel where the men don’t ask questions
and the girls have dirty hair
they come silently, clasped in a doorway
vanish along empty highways
on a street+car named despair
and the lights never change and you can’t see the signs
and once they’re got your name, pal, it’s just a matter of time
[chorus 2]
but what the h+ll? let’s dance
it may not be a sure thing but at least it’s half a chance
another cold hand+shake, a car crash ballet
another suburban romance
another suburban romance
[verse 3]
out in the street, they’re discussing the heat
or all those suicides downtown
legends haunt all the escalators
wait by the moving staircase
till one day it takes them down
to where dreams and blue jeans can attractively fade
a door swings shut behind and a silence falls on the arcade
[chorus 3]
but what the h+ll? let’s dance
at least it’s a living; one more defiant stance
more final solutions, a kiss in the blitz
another suburban romance
another suburban romance
[chorus 1]
but what the h+ll? let’s dance
it may not be pretty but it’s word a second glance
another blind alley and a laugh in the dark
another suburban romance
another suburban romance
[outro]
down here the bookshops don’t sell fiction
here pain is just an also+ran
and the crack+teams and the crystalheads
they stand round like crucifixion crowds
they’re just waiting for the man
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