For some reason, on our way to the cinema on 5 December 2001, Bryn and I started talking about Prince Harry. We agreed that because he wasn't expected to be a future king, like his brother, he'd be a bit more down to earth and able to lead a more normal life. Or perhaps a totally unexpected one - what if he went to went to Slimelight? We could parody "Common People" by Pulp so it concerned that . . . how could I resist? The original lyrics can be found here.

Disclaimer: I have nothing against Prince Harry and feel rather sorry for him. I just doubt he'd be popular among the rather judgemental goth community if he tried to join it.

Note: A couple of weeks after I wrote this, the scandal about Prince Harry taking drugs broke out. Weird!


His grandmother, she lived in Buckingham.
The Paparazzi killed his Mum.
That's why we saw him on TV.
We all knew that his Dad was big-eared.
Whenever we saw him we jeered.
Harry said "Fine."
And then in thirty seconds time he said,
"I want to die like gothic people,
I want to do whatever gothic people do.
I want to stay up with gothic people,
Gothic people who look just like Siouxsie Sioux."
Well what else could I do?
I said, "I'll see what I can do."
I took him to a cemetery.
I don't know why,
But it seemed very grim.
So that's where I took him.
I said, "Pretend you're really depressed."
But he just laughed
And said, "Oh, you're the best!"
I said, "Yeah.
But I can't see anyone else smiling in here.
Are you sure
You want to die like gothic people?
You want to go wherever gothic people go?
You want to stay up with gothic people?
You want to stay up with people who look like The Crow?"
But he didn't understand:
He just stood still and watched the band.
Wear PVC instead of suits,
Grow your hair and get some boots,
Take some drugs and move your feet,
Pretend you never went to Et-on.
But still you'll never get it right,
'Cos when you're knackered at Slimelight
Watching strobes caress the wall,
If you called your dad he'd take you to a ball.
You'll never die like gothic people.
You'll never do whatever gothic people do.
You'll never angst like gothic people.
You'll never let your colour drain out of you,
Dye your hair black or pink or blue,
And try and be a bit more like Andrew.
Dance along with the gothic people.
Dance along, though I'll doubt you'll come back again.
Cry along with the gothic people.
Cry along although you're not feeling their pain,
As the drugs drip through their veins,
Just like tears, just like tears in rain.
See that quiet bloke in the corner?
He might bite and never warn you.
Look out:
If you fight, you'll get thrown out.
'Cos everybody hates a trendy,
Especially one who think
That goth girls are cute.
Yeah and the stench of smoke
Will come out of your suit.
You will never understand
How it feels to die your death,
With no house, garage or soul,
And so few places to go.
You are amazed that they exist
And they dance all night
While you can only
Wonder why.
Wear PVC instead of suits,
Grow your hair and get some boots,
Take some drugs and move your feet,
Pretend you never went to Et-on.
But still you'll never get it right,
'Cos when you're knackered at Slimelight,
Watching strobes caress the wall,
If you called your dad he'd take you to a ball.
You'll never die like gothic people
You'll never do whatever gothic people do
You'll never angst like gothic people
You'll never have to stand for hours in a queue,
Like The Cure or Front 242,
And snort coke in a filthy loo.
I want to die with gothic people like you.....