Frank Turner Follow

Meet me on the edges of the city,
Meet me where the underground runs out.
Bring a pic nic blanket and your pity.
A pen and paper so I can write things down.
Mother, oh dear mother, I wasn't joking when I said,
That I plan to keep doing this until the day I'm dead.
And I'm not a mirror for you when you were young.
But I still remain your faithful only son.
Lately I've been feeling kind of fragile,
Lately I've been feeling all worn out.
What would any of us do, before the dreams that we had came to,
What would there be left to dream about.
Father, oh dear father, I'm not trying to reject,
The values that you held like winning cards up to your chest.
But I can't just do the things that you wish that you'd done,
Though I still remain your faithful only son.
The city, seems so still
When you're looking down, from Highgate Hill.
There's nothing left for us to say,
You taught me everything that I know,
YOu wouldn't miss me if I stayed,
You never see me if I go.
This is no confession no this is who I am
Make me in your image so you have to understand,
That I did my best as told and so've become,
You're loving and you're faithul only son.