Текст: Pulp. This Is Hardcore. Glory Days.

Come and play the tunes of glory -
Raise your voice in celebration
Of the days that we have wasted in the cafe
In the station.
And learn the meaning of existence in fortnightly instalments.
Come share this golden age with me
In my single room apartment.
And if it all amounts to nothing -
It doesn't matter,
These are still our glory days.

Oh my face is unappealing and my thoughts are unoriginal.
I did experiments with substances
But all it did was make me ill
And I used to do the I Ching
But then I had to feed the meter.
Now I can't see into the future
But at least I can use the heater.
Oh it doesn't get much better than this
Cos this is how we live our glory days.
Oh and I could be a genius if I just put my mind to it
And I,
I could do anything if only I could get round to it.
Oh we were brought up on the Space-Race,
Now they expect you to clean toilets.
When you've seen how big the world is,
How can you make do with this?
If you want me I'll be sleeping in -
Sleeping in throughout these glory days.
These glory days can take their toll,
So catch me now
Before I turn to gold.
Yeah we'd love to hear your story
Just as long as it tells us where we are -
That where we are is where we're meant to be.
Oh come on make it up yourself -
You don't need anybody else.
And I promise I won't sell these days to anybody else in the world but you.
No-one but you