Al Stewart, het was het eerste dat ik van hem gehoord heb, een single uit 1972. Het zal wel weer autobiografisch zijn, maar daar wil ik NIETS van weten. Het paste bij hoe ik mij toen voelde en kan ik er nu nog tegen?
Maar waarom zou ik er afstand van nemen.
(En nu besef ik dat ik mij ook aan autobiografisch geklets bezondig).
All right you saw me in the International Times
You’ve got my picture in your book
You tell your friends not to call at weekend,
And now you wear that far-off look
All right you stole your mother’s best sheets
And put them on my bed
And you remember all the words that I say
And now you keep them in your head
But you don’t even know me
You don’t even know me
You don’t even know me at all
All right I told you that I’m leaving London
The Summer seems so long
I’ve got no money to pay the rent
I’ve got no place to take my songs
And then you tell me I should keep on trying
You hand me an envelope
With all the money that you’d saved up
You couldn’t stand to see me go
But you don’t even know me
You don’t even know me
You don’t even know me at all
All right I took you to the Hendrix concert
On the seventh day of May
And through the Summer of 1967
We were part of the seeds of change
And now you say that we can really make it
We’ve got nowhere to fall
Though the signs are hung in the rainy distance
You don’t see them at all
But you don’t even know me
You don’t even know me
You don’t even know me at all
But you don’t even know me
You don’t even know me
You don’t even knew me at all
You don’t know me at all
You don’t know me at all
All right I think that we should stay together
For a while
You don’t even know me
