The loose shirt that couldn’t hurt – Guy Garvey
Buttons to one side
The crowd – they spit, they squirt, each and every one of your words right back ‘atcha
Perfectly snide
A band built on a whole other structure
The haircut that drew skirt
A chosen few, pretty pictures who just knew
Flailing arms in the air, carry you aloft their forever-chair
Crowd surf ’til you hit the goddamn turf

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