Beautiful South Pocket Lyrics

Pocket Lyrics

Here comes Pockets
His trousers hold a thousand deadly sins
The maddest
things we ever found in bins
He clutches them and looks at you and
grins
Here comes Pockets
The children wary of what they may
contain
The linen may have changed, the contents same
A trouser-treasure
island with no name
And socially at the platform that the timetable
forgot
Picking up used tickets in a station of have-nots
When you're on
that train of thought
You pass some pretty funky stops
When you're on
that train of thought
You pass some pretty funky stops
That's the Pocket,
let him be - That's the Pocket, let him be
Here comes Pockets
Picking up
the things we cannot see
A bicycle, a dame, a Christmas tree
Things of no
value to you or me
Here comes the Pockets
Reduced through history to just
a crawl
History turns the tall into the small
But natural born trawlers
love to trawl
And the guitar of his dreams hangs upon some wall
Or laying
underneath the staircase in a hall
We can carry dreams but we can't hold them
all
That's why we learn the Blues before we actually fall
That's the
Pocket, let him be
That's the Pocket, let him be
And he's clinging on to
hope
Like the oak tree to the gale
'Cause finding one love letter in a
sky high jumble sale
Is one single reason, why the Pocket will not fail