A working class man holds his head in his hands
As he sits at the bar and he sighs
He ??? and stares down the barrel of his glass
As it teases an easier night
He has three little girls and a wife on the rocks
Like the ice in the whisky he sips
Their love is in drought like their savings account
Though it burns through his pride to admit
His faith is like a diamond buried deep beneath the earth
And life dealt him a trowel and an atlas
The price is increased as the government sleeps
He'd prefer to dissolve in his mattress
Black mould looms on the ceiling like storm clouds
He climbs up a tower of bills with his eyes
In a small town in England, he pretends that he's fine
As he fears for his family of five
And he whispers
God in heaven
Why be so cruel?
Some people have a dream
Some don't come true
To add to the recession, along comes depression
Since they were already acquainted
They skip the foreplay and tangle as one
As he sinks in the couch half sedated
His withered hope clings by it's fingernails
Just like the leaves at the end of November
Tormenting himself is a morning routine
And he curtains his gloom with his temper
Now he's screaming
God in heaven
Why be so cruel?
Some people have a dream
Some don't come true
In a coffee shop, stranded, his clothes are unbranded
He forced a half-smile for the waiter
All the colours are grey on his canvas
Just like the black and white receipt he can't pay for
He turns off his phone and he walks with his head low
He climbs on the wall on the bridge
Oh, he closes his eyes and he curses the Lord
'Cause he can't find a fuck left to give
Now he's crying
God in heaven
Why be so cruel?
Some people have a dream
So tell me why some don't come true
Some people have a dream
Some don't come true
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