Along the high-street, coloured windows full of clothes. I saw a pretty girl and she held a wilted rose. A consolation, from someone who had gone.

And the sky was clear and blue, and the clouds, well, they were few. As I wondered at this perfect day, she turned to me to say...well I went walking, by the factories stark and bare. Down in the old canal, a red rose floated there. In every ripple, a lover who had gone...

It’s Always Raining-Rock and Hyde