Let´s begin at the beginning: we´re lovers and we´re losers,
we´re heroes and we´re pioneers, and we´re beggars and we´re choosers.
We´re skirting round the edges of the ideal demographic.
We´re almost on the guestlist, but we´re always stuck in traffic.
We´ve watched our close associates up and play their parts;
they´re chatting up the it girls, and they´re tearing up the charts,
while we were paying with coppers to get our round in at the bar.
We´re the C-Team, we´re the almost famous old friends of the stars.

Justin is the last of the great romantic poets,
and he´s the only one among us who is ever going to make it.
We planned a revolution from a cheap Southampton bistro.
I don´t remember details but there were English boys with banjos.
Jay is our St George, and he´s standing on a wooden chair,
and he sings songs and he slays dragons, and he´s losing all his hair.
Adam is the resurrected spirit of Gram Parsons,
in plaid instead of rhinestone and living in South London.
And no one´s really clear about Tommy´s job description,
but it´s pretty clear he´s vital to the whole damn operation.
Dave Danger smiles at strangers, Tre´s the safest girl I know,
Zo and Harps will skamper up to victory in the city we call home.

We won´t change our ways, we will proud remain when the glory fades.

I am sick and tired of people who are living on the B-list.
They´re waiting to be famous and they´re wondering why they do this.
And I know I´m not the one who is habitually optimistic,
but I´m the one who´s got the microphone here so just remember this:

Life is about love, last minutes and lost evenings,
about fire in our bellies and furtive little feelings,
and the aching amplitudes that set our needles all a-flickering,
and help us with remembering that the only thing that´s left to do is live.
After all the loving and the losing, the heroes and the pioneers,
the only thing that´s left to do is get another round in at the bar.