Back in nineteen eighty four
We were dancing in the dark
Not with Eric Arthur Blair
But with Springsteen in the park

And you, my love, were beautiful
I promised you the moon,
But down it fell, we crashed, we burned,
We lost it all too soon.

You blamed Arthur Scargill
For killing what was good
The miners strike divided us
Though Springsteen understood

That Thatcher played a canny hand
MacGregor played it too
The stockpiled coal, a summer strike
To lose would never do

How could you turn your face
From the anger and the shame
That Orgreave bought upon this land
Then shout ‘She’s not to blame!’

That was all our history until
There you were, having tea
Twenty years on, give or take,
In two thousand and three

We laughed, we two, about
The silliness of our youth
And oh how strange, I apologized
For being so uncouth.

You just smiled, held my hand
And told me not to worry
‘I forgive if you forgive
And let’s have no more sorry.’