Текст песни Advice From A Roving Artist

Can't go home right now, and that's the truth

Julie Burchill's drinking free champange on my roof

The front door's off limits, at least to the likes of me

See right here, right here, this is my story

Slept in a stranger's flat in all my clothes

In the morning I took a bus across the city to feel safe and closer to home

Passed a sign on the door, and a couple more

Saying welcome to hard times, welcome to hard times

I thought of a friend whose window looks out onto nothing but fields

While outside mine

The book shop was closing down

It's closed now

And it starts to look unlikely

As people leave around me

Helen King wrote a letter to me

Sent May 19th, the day of my birthday
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From a desk in a library in some far off country

I'm a roving artist now. It's alright, it's okay

It said there's no magic left in crystal balls

I'm not sure there ever was at all

But listen, what will happen, the favourite question

Is best left for the last line of the poem

And it starts to look unlikely

As people leave around me

Fashionistas, we don't need you

Fashionistas, we don't need you

Fashionistas, we don't need you

Fashionistas, we don't need you

Fashionistas, we don't need you

Fashionistas, we don't need you

Fashionistas, we don't need you

Fashionistas, we don't need you