“With you, I am not working class”
But I need reminding of who I am
It rains in my hair
There is a cold grey February light
That creates a stillness in the air
For man and beast who die together like grass

“With you, I am not working class”
I remember now the summer, especially the sun
How it flies in my heart like a white bird
How it covers my heart like thick butter
Even on a cold grey morning
Love is another thing that breaks down barriers

“With you, I am not working class”
My mother and father were just people who lived and died together
Their home was a place for children to survive
When the cold grey English light emerges from the darkness
Both Queen and subject feel its power to subject
And it treats all pedestrians as equals in its gloom

“With you, I am not working class”
I am just a man you have known for many years
Isn’t it a shame that God cannot make us love him?
Isn’t it a shame that God cannot make us love each other?
That we must do for ourselves
Isn’t it a shame?
2000