An Oral History Of My First Kiss Lyrics by Real Lies
Just the lightest touch, the falling drizzle found
Weekend wet look kids lost in an orange ticket town
Just another candy floss sunset
I’m trying to come of age, can we change the subject?
To the powders and the chemicals
Just talking hypotheticals!
Thirteen on a village green – you sure your source is credible?
Are we gonna do what we want yet?
We never get to. Does that make you upset?
Cos they only come here for the free flats and the benefits
OK…
And watch their kids drown on the way just for the hell of it
Uh huh… reading team news in the Saturday ‘papers
I tape the chart rundown. I’ll change the order later
But there must be a place where things fucking happen
A hidden frequency that guides you there across macadam
Just another candy floss sunset…
Wish I could come of age, too shy to meet your gaze
Well, I went home worried it was something that we’d both regret
She’s got a hot pink clipper and a twenty-deck of cigarettes
Spent another night alone cos I don’t know what it meant
And I still write your name whenever I see wet cement
It happened on a main road and I was embarrassed without really knowing why. There’s an awkward gap between childhood and being properly teenage. A peripheral shadowland of not quite being enough. From early on, I was obsessed with the adult world, staying up late with talk radio and strange Channel 5 sex comedies, and at wedding parties I’d be trapped in the glare of the full beams, groups of family friends and older second cousins stood about in circles – drinking, flirting, smoking… telling jokes and working up a sweat to early 90s ‘chart dance’ – less a genre or a scene, more a self-fulfilling Prodigy. I’d eat chicken legs and wonder what it was that they were all so excited about, at the same time dimly aware there were conversations happening close by between girls who were weighing up the prospect of you and laughing.
It was some years after the incident on the main road that I splintered off from the group and went with that girl with the hot pink clipper and the stolen cigarettes, round the back of a perfume shop in the rain as the scores came in. She drew me in close…
Well, I went home worried it was something that we’d both regret…
Exhaled a plume of smoke, and then it happened…
She’s got a hot pink clipper and a twenty-deck of cigarettes…
An oral history of my first kiss…
Was the first time on Earth that I felt so heaven sent…
I didn’t realise that my whole life they’d been writing it…
And I still write your name whenever I see wet cement…
Now it’s twenty years later but it’s still the same time of day
Take another shit pill and throw another summer night away
Now I don’t know where you are and I heard you’re digging for the dent
But I still write your name whenever I see wet cement