The first song I remember liking.
The first song that went into my consciousness and stayed
there, I don't know why.
And now I'm here, under the bridge of town, living it.

It took me a long time to get here, and now that I'm here I
believe I can fly. I am an English rose, a dancing queen,
only 17.
This isn't the final stop. I have places to be. I don't need
to ask myself - Where do we go from here? The battle is
done, and we kind won. But I still have more goals to, ahem,
score. I start singing. Toniiiiiight, I feel likeeeee...
morrrrrreeeeeee. People up in the street are staring at me.

Just another junkie. They don't give a fuck about me, or my
generation.

It's a Sunday morning. Not that it matters. Sunday morning's
every day, for all I care.
Under the bridge of town, that's where I spilt some blood.
As the needle goes out of my poor dying vein, black blood
spills out. Golden light goes in. I light a cigarette.
Someone shouts at me from the street, high (nothing's higher
than me! You can't stop me! I'm close enough to reach the
sky!) above me - Fucking Junkie!
I answer with a giggle and a voice only I can hear
You know you're right.  You know you're right.  
You know you're right.  
You know you're right.  
Pain.