Angora jumpers on the 10:15
Off to Brighton for the day
She's gently swaying through her magazine
Victoria is on her way
Oranges spinning in a Wimpy bar
Although she knows it's not the same
She sits and wonders where it all went wrong
Wraps her coat around her pain
Oh the magic in her garden never grows
The places and the faces that she used to know
Oh the magic in her garden never grows
The places and the faces that she used to know
That she used to know
Cherry vanilla flavoured ice cream cone
Lingers softly on her lips
The memory of a guilty phone call home
The wetness of a teenage kiss
Sling-backs clicking on the wooden boards
As she steps lightly on the pier
She sits and watches as the sun goes down
She'll be back this time next year
Oh the magic in her garden never grows
The places and the faces that she used to know
Oh the magic in her garden never grows
The places and the faces that she used to know
That she used to know
All the scooters, tonic suits and midnight features
Shiny chrome, shiny lights and shiny people
All the blues and all the tunes of pretty faces
All the kings and queens and all the aces
All the sundays and the mondays spending wages
Now growing in the gardens of suburban places
