Four Hours

from by The Playing Fields

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Four Hours

There’s no winning, there’s no glory,
Just an old familiar story;
I have grown you skin black flowers,
It’s the answer to my hours.

I can see you in the courtyard,
Where the ground windows are all barred;
And the crackheads keep on screaming,
Like an answer to my dreaming.

All hope is lost
In under four hours.

Take me back to your apartment,
Let me see the gifts that I sent;
They may prove that there was something,
Filled this space for there was nothing.

Check the dates upon your calendar,
This way I can malinger;
Like the river through the canyon,
Could you be my one companion?

All hope is lost
In under four hours.


from Hungry Ghosts, released April 27, 2012



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The Playing Fields UK

“Dark, melodic tunesmiths” (The Guardian)

“What might happen if Lou Reed and H. P. Lovecraft met in a pub one dark and gloomy night and decided to form a band.” (Music4M)

"Audio magic like a soothing spell.” (Blowback)

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"Dark, ethereal soundscapes” (Islington Gazette)

“A rare sense of depth" (NME)
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