Lyrics Beyond the Sun - Koop

Dear, thanks for your letter
Sounds like you're living the way you wanted
And that makes me smile
No, I hadn't heard Bjorn Borg retired

Thank God one of us has a finger on an sporting pulse
No records left to collect your complaint
Well, Borg, Brolin and an unknown tennis trainer
Released something recently
No doubt your contacts in the Stockholm underworld
Can source that gem

Got back the other day to find the pub
On the corner had been burnt down
A dark London street story, I won't burden you with now
Determined as I am to write you some life affirming shit

And not drag you an a regular trawl
Through the night seas to find what crawls
Yet I know they're casting their lots to see
Who can get the old pubs' lease
And turn it into more luxury flats

Brick by brick the infiltration has begun
I feel moved to take a spray can
And ending step to the boarding
But as yet I can't think of anything witty
Or on point enough to be up there

Yet the drunkards still own the park
D's still there in your old flat making beats
And still owns the night
While this street can still shape shift
And make you quicken your pace on a late night return

So I suppose we still have time
But make no mistake my friend
I'm sure some barricade somewhere has started calling

I'm so sorry we missed each other
When you last came to town
I heard from Ndeye you sat with her
Telling stories for three hours while
And he put some extensions in a client's hair

She told me about Cuba, cigars and sacred drums
Of arguments in bars, Dante
The color of Christ and the only true poet