An intense 16 year old Mark doing his best to reconcile teenage angst with the day-glo world of 1984. Howard Jones, oh how you encroached on my musical sense. Makes me wonder where I’m getting my influences from now. I suppose you never truly find out until after the event.
There you are again,
Holding hands with a smile on your face,
But a look that cuts like a knife,
Living on again,
Statuettes in a game of still life,
And it’s strange to think,
There’s a part of you in me,
And it’s hard to believe you’re just part of history,
Yes it’s one thing to look but another to see,
When in time our memories fade and fail.