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Flight Paths

by Pocketbooks

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1.
Footsteps (free) 03:34
You had me when I saw your shoes Or trainers if truth be told You had my heart the day I heard your footsteps near me And every summer passed me by The stairs to my apartment lacked excitement and style Until I heard your footsteps with me On the top deck of the 23 Through winter snow and autumn leaves Our footsteps in sync It's a beautiful thing, choreography From the supermarket aisles to the dancefloors of provincial towns I'd occupy my vacant hours just waiting for something For every couple holding hands in the high street You can bet your life You'll only hear a single set of footsteps between them On the platforms of the Central line The beaches of a south coast town Our footsteps in sync It's a beautiful thing, choreography Like the mischief hidden in your eyes Or the retro clothes you always buy I just hope I'll always hear your footsteps with me Like the clutter in your kitchen The same song you keep on whistling I just hope I'll always hear your footsteps with me On the top deck of the 23 Through winter snow and autumn leaves Our footsteps in sync It's a beautiful thing, choreography Like the mischief hidden in your eyes Or the retro clothes you always buy I just hope I'll always hear your footsteps with me Like the clutter in your kitchen The same song you keep on whistling I just hope I'll always hear your footsteps with me We’ll take one step forwards and then two steps backwards…
2.
Fleeting Moments (free) 04:01
Hanging on for someone is quite addictive When you gaze from high-rise windows At the lights beyond the ring road and the social club One girl’s perfection is another’s expectation And the pureness of a moment always overstays its welcome If I linger too long I’m romantic by design I see joy within the syntax of a shop sign Or a bus stop conversation in a west country town I feel overwhelmed sometimes by all the rational types Who just dismiss coincidence and instinct and perception As a trick of the mind It’s always fleeting, like snapshots or flashbacks and Unwritten endings and the promises wrapped up inside And I’m all potential, and potential is the spark behind my eyes Behind my eyes I’m forensic by design I’m the sort who sees a magic trick Then kills himself to find out how it’s done And then I’m always let down I’m all details and facts How can I sleep when there’s comparisons and speculation, Talking heads, deliberations haunting me Fleeting moments are insomnia for the curious and Untied endings are the curse of inquisitive minds And so what’s potential, When potential might be all you ever know? I don’t know Oh the summer, it drags its heels And then for every fleeting moment There’s a fortnight left to wonder if it happened at all…
3.
Every night we sketch a storyboard Drawings spread across the bed Deciphering the day ahead and conversations Sequences and camera angles You’re using charcoal and felt-tips I’m posing mannequins to map it all out The imaginary camera work Kicking leaves up in the cul-de-sacs Where every road’s a movie set And every conversation has been pre-approved And road-tested by focus groups And here, back in real life at our desks Still imagining we’re filming on sets Where the cameras film in single takes So you pick out locations and directions for the cast I’ll be learning lines for all occasions that arise We’ll imagine clapperboards for every single scene in our day-to-day lives And you’ll find continuity from one clip to the next I’ll be free to improvise as long as it complies with an overall view Where the cameras always follow you And it’s enchanting in a certain way Every word is magnified Every look considered Yet we’re bordering on obsession on directing Alongside fictitious camera crews that film Imaginary plots that never work through When the cameras never follow you So you could leave the stories and the dialogue to chance I’ll be free to improvise and take things as they come and We’ll keep up an open mind for every single scene in our day-to-day lives And we’ll find continuity from one day to the next No-one needs a storyboard to tell us what we should have known all along That the cameras follow everyone
4.
Growing up on the outskirts of town To the sound of ice cream vans and flight paths above And we raced on bikes through the streets after dark Till that girl got knocked down by a Volkswagen car And she stayed inside as she started to heal As the cinema closed and the theatre closed too And I’d later run through the high street at night Past the charity shops and the flashing blue lights on the outskirts of town Endless Threads was a shop on my road Opened in autumn, by winter it’s closed As it found no favour with home-made designs As the kids wait on platforms for city-bound trains And the girl with the bike moved in over the shop Opened the boxes the owners forgot and their Faded plans for a cinema club Simply gathering dust with the discounted clothes And a handwritten note, with the words… “To whomever this letter might find Here’s the last of my dreams on the outskirts of town I’m in love with the smiles on pedestrian streets But I’ve fallen for something that’s out of my reach And I guess the anonymous city’s for me And I guess I’m naïve if I think I’ll survive on the outskirts of town” And I understand, I can see the bright lights in your eyes And she folds the note, puts it back in the box Hands in the clothes to the charity shops And she leaves her bike on some railings unchained And then waits on a bench for a city-bound train on the outskirts of town
5.
I’m asleep on a train on the Zone 2 boundary Awoken by the weary sigh of a ticket guy Placating some ‘young lady’ by his side I was late, I was tired and I lost my Oyster card He’s coming on with all this tired bureaucracy When all I need is empathy and sleep On the street nothing’s changed since the 1990s (You’ve changed, you’re so much older) Oh, I haven’t changed since ‘99 (Well I’ve seen your suit) I’ve still got my paperround When I get to my desk I’m a different person (That’s a conscious choice you made though) I’ll manage risks and strategies (Is that enough?) Yes, as long as I get paid I’m a painter, always painting lies It was all fine Til a man in a street said that what you’ve done there is just Cross the line I’ve no desire to go too far and Cross the line Led astray by the city ways and Cross the line I don’t know why but I always try for the last word When you know the last word’s mine As a kid I would run through the fields and orchards (What about your hayfever though?) I’d climb the branches to the top (What with your vertigo?) Look I’m making all this up I’ve a dream of a house with the perfect garden (Yeah, you and a thousand of others) The pebble dash and the crazy pave (And a 4x4?) Nah, we’d cycle every day I’m a carpenter Chip away at dreams Til a bartender Said that one of these days all your cycnical ways will just Cross the line I’ve no desire to go too far and Cross the line Led astray by the city ways and Cross the line I don’t know why but I always try for the last word When you know the last word’s mine I’d swap some sleep for a fixed emotion A G&T and some suntan lotion A bag of chips in a seaside coast town An empty seat on the underground and A basement club where there’s space for dancing A conversation that’s life enhancing A sudden twist that I’m not expecting A novelette with a cryptic ending
6.
I’ve been dying to tell you for some time That my friends have up and left me and I’m skating on thin ice Threw my arms around a memory Of laughter in the disco and the sense of family The rain stopped falling When you walked up to me Now my backpack’s bulging and I’m running away again And my heart is heavy with the words you said to me Threw my arms around a memory Of late night drinking and dancing ‘til three The rain stopped falling When you walked up to me I can’t stop crying I’m running on empty
7.
And the most curious thing Aside from the way that the sun often shines inappropriately on a crisis Aside from the strange sense of calm And the way that we instinctively sit on the seats on the left hand side of the top deck of your local bus Is what happens to all of the secrets we carelessly shared on those January days on the sofa in the front room of your terraced house? Now things are over, tell me do they just disappear or get broadcast on all channels and frequencies around town? I guess we both feel like talking But maybe we could find a way to be discreet this time? And we're fine with the truth It's more just the stuff we'll make up when we're drunk to find favour with friends and distant acquaintances And you're welcome to say I'm often distracted and don't always put my books straight back on their bookshelves, they just lie around And I'll just say you're forgetful From PIN numbers, birthdays and dentist appointments to paying your rent But they know that anyway And we'll just leave it there If anyone asks well we just grew apart and there's nothing to share I know we both feel like talking But maybe we could find a way to be discreet? And I'll stand aside, bite my tongue until the moment subsides I'll stand aside and let everyone think that you're sweetness and light I'll stand aside, close my eyes until the moment subsides I'll stand aside and let everyone think that you're sweetness and light And I'll pack my bags Warm as the sun shines obliviously I know it's a poor consolation for me As I sit on the bus in our regular seats The secrets we shared in your old terraced house on those January days Will stay with the sofa and moth-eaten chairs Fade over time, disappear And I'll stand aside and let people decide for themselves If you're sweetness and light... or something else
8.
I didn’t want to read the news today, I turned my head away All calls diverted to my answer phone Position closed I don’t suppose you’d take a message for me? My work is done, I’m going home Well I’m not going out I’m going to stay at home tonight I’m not going out I’m going to stay at home and write my autobiography A shopping list, a love letter to D Leave me alone, I’m staying home I didn’t want to see the news today, I turned my head away (I’d rather see your picture) All calls directed to my answer phone (You wouldn’t call me anyway) Sit in the dark just don’t come knocking now, I’m locking out the world (Don’t ask me any questions) My work is done, I’m laying low (I just don’t know what happened) Well I’m not going out I’m going to stay at home tonight I’m not going out I’m going to stay at home and write my autobiography A shopping list, a love letter to D Leave me alone, I’m staying home
9.
Hilltops, snowdrops, late night dares Queuing outside for the Yeah Yeah Yeahs Soft toys, Beach Boys, corduroy flares Kissing for hours Up on Crystal Drive Well I wrote down all the good times Crystal Drive As the years go by, I won’t change my mind We got a motorboat lost in a land-locked harbour Did a karaoke turn you regretted after Left your gran and granddad in fits of laughter And you said at the time That I’d just forget everything And you’d never understand But I wrote this list down Every good time we ever had We did a politics course in the last semester They threw you in the lake in my favourite sweater You wrote you loved me in your final letter But in the very next line You said I’d just forget everthing And you’d never understand But I wrote this list down Every good time we ever had
10.
There’s a snap as you step on a twig We’re frozen on tiptoes in fear And sink to our heels in relief Past kids on their paperround trails Milkfloats and shiftworker cars And revellers staggering home Rendezvous at the top of the park Gaze down at the smoke and the lights The buildings suspiciously quiet And I reach for a Paperchase bag Rip pages from plain A4 pads Write notes for the city below And I’m folding arrows, and you’re folding darts, dear And I’m E H Mathews and you’re Ninomiya It’s all in symmetrics and aerodynamics in classic design As it glides from my hands Past the padlocked park gates Through the cold city streets Past the tired chief execs Somersaults and pirouettes Past health spa retreats Venture capitalists ‘Til they swoop and they fall Paper aeroplanes are raining down Just to haunt you We’ll launch ‘til we drop Chapped hands and sharp paper cuts Bruises and javelin arms And they’ll glance off the lampposts and trees Knock hats off the suits in the street And land in their coffees and teas So I’m making airfoils and you’ve built a fuselage I’m writing sound bites and you’ve written monologues So, pick the targets, they’ll fly with a serene velocity girl Glide and then fall Past the rush hour cars And the cinema aisles And the rooftop hotels Pirouettes and somersaults Past old market stalls And juvenile courts Til they swoop and they fall Paper aeroplanes are raining down Just to haunt you somehow And as the sun comes up Gaze at the horizon and ask What on earth is going on? Pirouettes and somersaults
11.
Seems like lately From leaves on the line to Paxman’s ‘goodnight’ All I ever seem to do is rush around There’s never a second to think And you’re running From pavements and parks from dawn until dusk All you ever seem to do is rush around Never a second to gaze At the pattern the sun makes through curtains and blinds Or the way that your fringe frames your eyes As the weekends dissolve in our calendars and Seems like every evening’s a school night In the goldrush from status to endless deadlines All we ever seem to do is rush around And the next day You’re there by my side with a quizzical eye saying ‘All you ever seem to do is laze around looking at clouds’ As a book lies face down on the table, a crease in the spine And we’re supposed to be running for our lives As the weekends dissolve in our calendars and Seems like every evening’s a school night In the goldrush from status to endless deadlines All we ever seem to do is rush around And on bank holidays we stop and say ‘Let’s try again next year ‘Cos all we do is rush around’

about

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released July 13, 2009

Released by How Does It Feel To Be Loved?

Recorded by Simon Trought at Soup Studios, London.
All songs written by Andy Hudson, except Skating On Thin Ice (Emma Hall) and I'm Not Going Out (Daniel Chapman and Emma Hall).
Trumpet on tracks 1, 3 and 5 played by El Stephenson.

Cover photo and sleeve by The Boy And The Cloud.
(c) and (p) 2009 Pocketbooks. The copyright for these sound recordings is held by Pocketbooks.

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Pocketbooks London

Pocketbooks are a pop band from London, combining melodic harmonies, spiralling guitars and descriptive storytelling. Since 2006, they've released two albums and played shows across the UK, Europe and the United States.

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