Lyrics

[Paddy Hill] There was a cop standing there with two guns on him— shoulder holster and waist holster— and I remember thinking to myself, 'Jesus! Some poor bastard's in for a hard time,' but I never thought it was me. And the Birmingham Police come on the scene and they started battering and torturing me. They were telling me things about my wife and they were telling me about the mobs being outside my house, 'screaming for my wife's and my kids' blood,' and all that, and 'the only thing that was separating the mob from my family was their line of policemen,' and all of this crap. If I didn't make a statement they would call off the police cordon and let the mob have the wife and kids [Verse 1] I don't know if I miss you, if I miss the part of me that used to feel Maybe if I kissed you, you'd miss the part of you that used to need me Maybe if I held you, I took some time to tell you That the time I hold you now is in my dreams Schemes we shared together— sweet sunsets, a rocking chair— Are looking just as faded as my jeans [Chorus] All the thrills are gone What used to kill the pain no longer pacifies you What satisfied me once And got me jumping the ring of fire Has left me burnt-out and on the wire All the thrills are gone There's something missing. It takes quite a while to realise the whole world is changing [Verse 2] Sometimes when I'm walking, I walk the way you and I, we walked Sometimes when I'm drinking, I think about the things we used to talk about Our lovers' lane is closed; every telephone is broken They can't carry my words home to where I want to be Some candlelit location— Al Green on the radio station— The dream is slipping like an anchor to the sea [Chorus] All the thrills are gone What used to kill the pain no longer pacifies you What satisfied me once And got me jumping the ring of fire Has left me burnt-out and on the wire All the thrills are gone You sit there— people never understand what it's like just sitting there— and everybody all over the country— the government, people in the street, newspapers, radios, televisions, you name it— everybody's delighted that you're locked up, you're a bomber, a mass murderer; you're this, you're that, the other. And the bottom line is, you don't really give a fuck about it, though, because the only thing you're thinking of is your wife and your kids