1995...

... think but not sure,

Proper techno and that—the night was ours, it was.

Down Overdrive, bro, who's got the bag?

Amphetamine sulphate, LSD—on it like mad.

Madrid owed us, and we owning the floor,

Having it, but wanting more, then more.

Untouchable, wild, way off our tits,

We were the rhythm, the sound—city’s best bits.

Chaos, lights—was it 145? I guess yes,

Sweat and chills, we floating?—awrite yes, we were.

Pal on all fours, searching—he lost his bag?

"Oi, bro, you cool, what’s up?"

“Hold up,” he barks, and shows me his palm,

“Don’t you see that rose growing, there! that!”

Lad’s gone bananas, me mates and I laughed,

But he’s in awe really, his face’s all lit up.

Right on the dancefloor, man, he swears,

There's a rose standing solo, gasping for air.

What a beauty, what a sight, he says, well rare,

We can’t see it, but we feel it, mate—it’s fair.

It was then it all turned—panic crept in,

Got the shivers, things started lookin’ grim.

Faces twistin', all funny, beats going daft,

Doesn't feel right, does it—where the actual fuck!?

Weird expressions, madness, bodies turn,

Music still playin’, but distant, like shy farts.

The highs all gone, the mids fadin’ away,

The lows are still thumpin’—nah bro, no way.

Where’s me mates? Where’s that rose now?

Is this real? Oh my god, what’s going on?

Rush in the heid, and heart racing mad,

Tingles coming up, fast, then bang bang bang.

An hour, a day? Time blurred like that,

But it was seconds, bro—just a fucking flash.

Rose gone now, the crowd seems back in place,

Cold sweat drenched me—water, where’s the taste?

Heading off now, no music, lights went on,

Fellas' guises showing the cracks and what not.

We're spent matey, empty bags, rush is all gone,

There’s a silly chuckle going, where’s the fookin’ rose?

1995, I think, but not sure about that,

Proper techno and shite wasn’t too bad.

If you ask me now, mate—about what went on,

Was there a rose there, man? I'm not sure.