Wild waves crash on a seashore. Bad pennies turn up time after time. I dream of spring and snowy blossom. Late nights spent drinking bottles of wine. I was sitting on the beach, staring at the sand. Dancing all night with a bottle in my hand. Dreamin of a dream, dreaming of a foreign land. I took another sip of the bottle in my hand. Wild rose. I keep on searching for nobody knows. The wild rose – does anybody know where the wild rose grows. Living with the backbeat, bleat generation. Where everything is obvious and everything is blatant. Living in the zeros is cheap imitation. Designed for the disposable, controllable generation. Cool breeze blowing from the Irish sea. Ill wind is blowing up your street. There’s shells on the beach and bombs in the Water. Would you sacrifice your son, or sacrifice your daughter.