Home 🎬 Bollywood 🎵 Pakistani 🎤 English Pop

Hull or Hell

👤 Chumbawamba 🎼 The Boy Bands Have Won, and All the Copyists and the Tribute Bands and the TV Talent Show Producers Have Won, If We Allow Our Culture to Be Shaped by Mimicry, Whether From Lack of Ideas or From Exaggerated Respect. You Should Never Try to Freeze Culture. What You Can Do Is Recycle That Culture. Take Your Older Brother’s Hand-Me-Down Jacket and Re-Style It, Re-Fashion It to the Point Where It Becomes Your Own. But Don’t Just Regurgitate Creative History, or Hold Art and Music and Literature as Fixed, Untouchable and Kept Under Glass. The People Who Try to ‘Guard’ Any Particular Form of Music Are, Like the Copyists and Manufactured Bands, Doing It the Worst Disservice, Because the Only Thing That You Can Do to Music That Will Damage It Is Not Change It, Not Make It Your Own. Because Then It Dies, Then It’s Over, Then It’s Done, and the Boy Bands Have Won. ⏱️ 3:31
🎵 911 characters
⏱️ 3:31 duration
🆔 ID: 29352328

📜 Lyrics

Of larks trains windows and brooks
The poet he writes it all down in his book
Won't meet your eye but he wants you to look
In Hull or hell he lies

Lambs in the winter and swans in the spring
Children at play they're like birds on the wing
And the poet he writes that the sun seems to swing
In Hull or hell he lies

Away from the world and away from the page
Hidden in corners the gathering of age
Retreats to the wings where he once held the stage
In Hull or hell he lies

The dirt and the filth that we don't get to see
That's eating his language away
This yellow-eyed nastiness hides from the light of the day

Resenting the everyday growing so old
Where winter once pictured as flowers in fold
Turned frosty and bitter and weathered and cold
In Hull or hell he lies

His housemaid she tried but the dirt grew so fast
The darkest of colours he nailed to the mast
Stuck in his ways like he's stuck in the past

⏱️ Synced Lyrics

[00:09.28] Of larks trains windows and brooks
[00:13.61] The poet he writes it all down in his book
[00:18.36] Won't meet your eye but he wants you to look
[00:24.15] In Hull or hell he lies
[00:33.76] Lambs in the winter and swans in the spring
[00:38.02] Children at play they're like birds on the wing
[00:43.05] And the poet he writes that the sun seems to swing
[00:48.73] In Hull or hell he lies
[00:58.12] Away from the world and away from the page
[01:02.34] Hidden in corners the gathering of age
[01:07.21] Retreats to the wings where he once held the stage
[01:13.21] In Hull or hell he lies
[01:22.31] The dirt and the filth that we don't get to see
[01:27.22] That's eating his language away
[01:31.63] This yellow-eyed nastiness hides from the light of the day
[01:55.39] Resenting the everyday growing so old
[01:59.38] Where winter once pictured as flowers in fold
[02:04.17] Turned frosty and bitter and weathered and cold
[02:09.76] In Hull or hell he lies
[03:10.60] His housemaid she tried but the dirt grew so fast
[03:15.13] The darkest of colours he nailed to the mast
[03:19.64] Stuck in his ways like he's stuck in the past
[03:26.26]

⭐ Rate These Lyrics

Average: 0.0/5 • 0 ratings