So we're heading somewhere
We'll get there slow if the crowds of anal-retentives grow
You're on the telephone
I hear you delegating call centre workers in a condescending tone
And i'm vile and i'm broke and I left my pans to soak, said you didn't notice, you noticed!
Expect to ascend an apex of accomplishment, i haven't time for, i've got no time for...
Those girls say they're insane it's quite clear that they're not
As everything seems plain we sink blue drinks and stumble home...
Terra Firma soft to touch, languid tarmac covered up, they call it progress
I call them thugs who take their demons out to lunch...
Those girls say they're insane, it's quite clear that they're not
All those bands with boring names, the towns pitchforks are quite blunt
Two old drunks fall in love but never spill a drop
There's mild glee at this house party as someone takes a piss down the stairs...
Again, there's no plan, as we just sit back and wait, and this malaise is everything you hate