(P. Assirati & N. Assirati)

I was chatting with Nick about Sunday afternoons when we were younger and living near East Street market  and summertime in London. I got out my notebook, kept saying to Nick to keep talking and I just wrote it out. Nick added some references of his own and we were there. The Music was a jam when we were rehearsing. Dave Woodhead’s brass work was classic Woody.

I sit by my window as the traffic moves slowly
I wait for my saviour to call
Milk bottle tops and the kids in the corner shop
Hanging around in the soft evening sun
All down the roman road, so out of touch, that’s me

Cracks in the pavement, all the scattered newspapers
Crates are piled high in the road
And an old soldier stands with his bags at his feet
Waiting for the last bus that we all know won’t show
All down the roman road, so out of touch from me

Then everything changed one morning in May  

She shopped in the market and I stopped when I saw her
I watched as she moved through the fair
She crept through the crowd, all the junk and the jewellery
The flow of her dress and the cut of her hair
All down the roman road, so out of reach to me

I sit by my window and the traffic’s not moving
I wait for my saviour to come
I hear ‘Tupelo Honey’ and the view from my window
Fading away in the soft evening sun
All down the roman road, so out of touch, that’s me