Inventing the Black Country

Provincial Kareoke Queen

The

First

Here I sit, broken hearted
Youthful vibrance soon departed
Bar takings are on the slide
We’ll never make the good pub guide

Young hearts too good for the world that made them
Cos that world can only break them
A world that twists your childhood dreams
Fuelled by filthy magazines

But sometimes we forget these things
When pretty girls get up to sing . . .

She don’t need the words
And she knows what they all mean
She’d sung every song by the time she was eighteen
She smokes a cigarette like she just shagged James Dean
And everybody watches as she steps up to the screen

She’s not the most elegant girl there’s ever been
But she struts across the floor like Berry Gordy’s wet dream
She’s the greatest singer this pub has ever seen
She’s this town’s provincial kareoke queen

Here we sit, sharing stories
Drinking feeds, curating glories
Self esteem is on the slide
Let’s log in and take a ride

Young hearts too good for the world that made them
Cos that world can only break them
A world that twists your childhood dreams
Played in self-reflecting screens