England, it's raining but strangely it's raining.
A Pub, you drink, mugs that build your muscles.
The girls look at you. Are they smiling or laughing at you?
You encounter an English octopus. The dilemma remains are they laughing or smiling. The girl might not be pretty, to avoid being sexist you take a tour around the place. You think that in the end, you'll come up with the excuse that you're drunk, without mentioning that you might also be a toilet and no one has ever given you the time of day.
But we're not talking about toilets.
As I was saying, outside it's raining, rain is fog.
A record plays.
Youngsters pass under the rain.
Anyway, they're laughing, trust me.
Anyway, the youngsters pass by. As they pass, a ray of Scottish Pop expands, Sarah, Pastels, Innocence C 86 with fewer amphetamines.
A ray of melancholic melody. Simple English pop that takes you from Aztec Camera to the Smiths, with all the ocean in between.
Pure pop, pure fog, rain, and if you like it, a sense of sweet melancholy.