The place was full of old men rocking and howling,
eyes glued to ancient prayers.
I should've been doing the same but I had nothing to atone for.
Not yet, anyway.

(Nothing to atone for)

We were three rows back from the front,
my father on the right,
all righteous and guilty in his prayer shawl.
Barry on the left in mohair.
I smiled at Barry and we shared a rebel moment.
We only came because we had to.
We were too young not too.
Yeah, I was only fifteen, trying to be a mod
and shoes were more important than God.

(Barry's shoes)

Please walk me away from the family business

(Barry's shoes)

Get me out of my Father's clothes,

(Barry's shoes)

Kick start my imagination,

(Barry's shoes)

with a little intrigue.

Yeah, I looked down to avoid God's gaze
and there they were.

(Barry you're a dark horse)
They were blue - grey, mock alligator,
six whip thin straps with a pointed toe,
sharp enough to carve your name in a greaser
and leave him lying in a pool
of his own cool.

Barry you're a liar.
You bought them from him didn't you?

Here come the waves of disapproval

And they were mean shoes,
lean shoes, supreme shoes,
every loving Mother's bad dream shoes.

They were brave shoes,
depraved shoes,
emancipated slave,
dancing on your grave
in obscene shoes,
wet dream shoes,

Screamin' Jay Hawkins screamin' shoes.

They were race shoes,
disgrace shoes,
lying in the gutter
off my face shoes,
in kiss of death shoes,
whiskey breath shoes,
Jerry Lee on
crystal meth shoes.

They called them queer shoes,
fear of fear shoes,
end of everything
we hold dear shoes.
Can't let it happen here shoes

(Barry's shoes)

Last seen leaving the Three Coins at midnight,

(Barry's shoes)

on his way to meet an unknown friend.

(Barry's shoes)

They found his shoes, on fire, on a bombsite.

(Barry's shoes)

But no sign of Barry.

For a long time the park seemed empty without him.
In his honour only sick jokes were told,
then JFK got shot and the world stopped.
We all slowly morphed into our parents
and the dream went cold.
And I got scared.

The place was full of old men rocking and howling,
eyes glued to ancient prayers.
I should've been doing the same
but I have nothing to atone for, yet.

Do they?
Do they?
Do they?

© Godley / Gouldman

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