I wrote this in 1980, partly autobiographical, partly not – it’s the story of a young gay man finding his feet in London, which is true of me at that time, although I’d actually already been around the block a bit by then, having left the family home some years earlier. It does cover the same sort of ground as ‘Smalltown Boy’, but I’m pleased to say that it predates Bronski Beat by a couple of years! There have been a few versions of it over the years, but I wanted to ‘finish’ it as it does capture something of that time. This was a few years before everything changed with the arrival of AIDS of course. But that’s another story. Special thanks to Phil Stanton for the saxophone parts and help with the production.
Navy blue suit, a cream cotton shirt and a tie
Suitcase in hand, a kiss for his mother – goodbye
The neighbours will miss him, the house will seem quiet
Write to us soon, or telephone when you have time
Just a few words, to let us know you’re doing fine
And please do be careful with friends that you find
Looking behind, the station is lost in the sun
Gone are his parents, none to deny him the run
Of the freedom the city can offer the young
The night has begun, the trains journey ends in the dark
Once in the streets, the bright lights seem painfully stark
But the roar of the traffic gives strength to his heart
Anonymous city, the nameless friend
His life in the countryside closet will end
It’s comforts are many if he can delight
In losing his name as he’s lost in the multitude
Who walk the wild streets in the night
The room is too small, the sounds from the street are too loud
At twelve pounds a week he’s joining the bed-sitting crowd
A song in a subway will get him about
The guide from Gay News, a voice on the line, an address
A Friday night disco, home life was never like this
Deceit and dishonesty he’ll never miss
His past lonely life is lost to new love each night
Sunday school morals faded and gone from his sight
He knows that the feelings he follows are right
Black leather jacket, tight denim jeans and a vest
An eye in the mirror, he knows he’s looking his best
In an image of man, just like all the rest
Anonymous city, the nameless face
Life in the civilised organised race
It’s comforts are many and he will delight
In losing his shame as he’s lost in the multitude
Who walk the wild streets in the night
