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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Emile Haynie
Drums
Florence Welch
Vocals
Brett Shaw
Drums
Rob Ackroyd
Ukulele
Tom Monger
Harp
Kamasi Washington
Tenor Saxophone
Terrace Martin
Alto Saxophone
David Moyer
Baritone Saxophone
Maurice Brown
Trumpet
Lemar Guillary
Trombone
Amy Sanchez
French Horn
Lukas Storm
Tuba
Rickey Washington
Flute
Charles Owens
Bass Clarinet
Everton Nelson
Violin
Richard George
Violin
Julia Singleton
Violin
Louisa Fuller
Violin
Warren Zielinski
Violin
Calina De La Mare
Violin
Emil Chakalov
Violin
Ian Humphries
Violin
Alison Dods
Violin
Oli Langford
Violin
Gillon Cameron
Violin
Tom Pigott-Smith
Violin
Lucy Wilkins
Violin
Bruce White
Viola
Rachel Robson
Viola
Joel Hunter
Viola
Reiad Chibah
Viola
Clare Orsler
Viola
Ian Burdge
Cello
Tony Woollard
Cello
Chris Worsey
Cello
Vicky Matthews
Cello
Karen Jones
Flute
Anna Noakes
Flute
Anthony Pike
Bass Clarinet
Richard Watkins
French Horn
Pip Eastop
French Horn
Katy Woolley
French Horn
Richard Berry
French Horn
Andy Crowley
Trumpet
Dan Newell
Flugelhorn
Phil Cobb
Trumpet
Tom Rees Roberts
Trumpet
Andy Wood
Trombone
Ed Tarrant
Trombone
Frank Ricotti
Percussion
Tom Moth
Harp
Clare Orsler
Viola
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Florence Welch
Songwriter
Brett Shaw
Songwriter
Kamasi Washington
Horn Arranger
Sally Herbert
String Arranger
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Emile Haynie
Producer
Florence Welch
Producer
Brett Shaw
Recording Engineer
Tom Bailey
Recording Engineer
John Prestage
Assistant Recording Engineer
Derrick Stockwell
Assistant Recording Engineer
Tom Elmhirst
Mixing Engineer
Brandon Bost
Assistant Mixing Engineer
John Davis
Mastering Engineer
Keith Gretlein
Additional Engineer
Lyrics
When I go home alone
I drive past the place where I was born
And the places that I used to drink
Young and drunk and stumbling in the street
Outside the Joiners Arms like foals unsteady on their feet
With the art students and the boys in bands
High on E and holding hands with someone that I just met
I thought it doesn't get
Better than this
There can be nothing better than this
Better than this
And we climbed onto the roof of the museum
And someone made love in the grass
And I forgot my name
And the way back to my mother's house
With your blackpool eyes and your bitten lips
The world is at your fingertips
It doesn't get
Better than this
What else could be
Better than this?
Oh, do you know what I have seen?
I have seen the fields aflame
And everything I ever did
Was just another way to scream your name
Over and over and over and over again
Over and over and over and over again
And we're just children wanting children of our own
I want a space to watch things grow
But did I dream too big?
Do I have to let it go?
What if one day there is no such thing as snow?
Oh God, what do I know?
And I don't know anything
Except that green is so green
And there's a special kind of sadness
That seems to come with spring
Oh, do you know what I have seen?
I have seen the fields aflame
And everything I ever did
Was just another way to scream your name
Over and over and over and over again
Over and over and over and over again
Oh, do you know what I have seen?
I have seen the fields aflame
But everything I ever did
Was just another way to scream your name
Writer(s): Florence Leontine Mary Welch, Brett Shaw
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