There's no mistake I smell that smell It's that time of year again I can taste the air The clocks go back railway track Something blocks the line again and the train runs late for the first time. A pebble beach, we're underneath Pier had just been painted red Where I heard the news for the first time and all the friends lay down the flowers Sit on the banks and drink for hours Talk of the way they saw him last Local boy in the photograph . . . today He'll always be twenty-three yet that train runs on and on Past the place they found his clothing There's no mistake I smell that smell It's that time of year again I can taste the air The clocks go back railway track Something blocks the line again and the train runs late for the first time. . . today And all the friends lay down the flowers Sit on the banks and drink for hours Talk of the way they saw him last Local boy in the photograph . . . today. He's gone away -