She talked to boys from the far side of town
|
And in a while one chose her
|
They paint her face, bring gifts for her father
|
And shower her with roses
|
|
In the early days they used to laugh a lot
|
Now they don't even smile very often
|
And their eyes seldom meet
|
If they can help it...
|
|
Urban tribal
|
The girl don't have an answer to your call
|
Urban tribal
|
She won't feed your babies anymore
|
She was the last in line
|
ready to be taken by motherhood
|
Hand on Bible distill the urban tribal
|
From her blood
|
|
She'll tell it all at confession tonight
|
One prayer for hope, one for pardon
|
The early moon and the glow from the power plant
|
Will light her way back to Harlesden
|
|
Urban tribal
|
The girl don't have an answer to your call
|
Urban tribal
|
She won't feed your babies anymore
|
She was the last in line
|
ready to be taken by motherhood
|
Hand on Bible distill the urban tribal
|
From her blood
|
|
-----------------
|
Urban Tribal
|
| Thomas Dolby |
