It's 1972 again and I'm back at the top of our stairs,
It's half past 7 on a Sunday night,
I'm not allowed in the room, I'm not Sixteen,
But I can dream that I'll hear those sounds that run around my head,
Through closed doors to my empty bed.


What's that sound? I never heard that before!
It's a hallowed moment, the 'Eureka!' I've waited for,
Shit...my mum's making coffee now, I'd better hide inside my room,
It's like straining to hear the eulogies when you're the one inside the tomb.


But later, it comes around again,
They're on side two now (they must be, 'cos the singer sounds the same)
Caught in this music, lost in the sound and the words and the song,
This doesn't feel wrong,
And I'll go back to bed after I've heard...the Mellotron.