@migu music@

My Finest Hour - The Sundays

And the world it shows me up

My clothes they show me up

I never knew this before

My finest hour that I've ever known

Was finding a pound on the underground

And my words came stumbling out

And then I went tumbling out

I've never been hit before

And the finest hour that I've ever known

Was finding a pound on the underground

And I keep hoping you are the same as me

And I'll send you letters

And come to your house for tea

We are who we are what do the others know

But poetry is not for me

So show me the way to go home

And the words came stumbling

Out of my mouth

And I went tumbling out here no no

But I keep hoping you are the same as me

And I'll send you letters

And come to your house for tea

We are who we are what do the others know

But poetry is not for me

So show me the way to go

Oh I'm going home

But I keep hoping you are the only one

Yes and I'll send you letters

Oh wouldn't it be such fun

We are who we are whatever the others say

But poetry is not for me

And much as I'd like to stay

Oh I just want to go home

You're you're you're too young

Should've been you're you're you're too young

It should've been you're too you're too

You're too young

It should've been you you you're too young

You should've been safer saner

Barred the doors and then sat down

Ooh you're you're you're too young