The cute bomber jacket you've had since sixth form Adorned with patches of places you've been Is nothing on my khaki coat I got From a roadside when I was sixteen My boots are from airports My backpack's from friends I'm not a man of substance, and so I'll pretend To be a wanderer, wondering Leaving ascetic belongings in hostels and restaurant bins ♪ (Cut that bit out) The roads are my home, horizon's my target If I keep on moving, never lose sight of it Treating my memory of you like a fire, let it Burn out, don't fight it, and try to move on It's been sixty weeks since I saw Vienna A bandage and a wide smile slapped across my face I'll pick up my hiking boots when I am ready And I'll put down my roots when I'm dead ♪ The distance is futile Come on, don't be hasty You'll get that feeling deep inside your bones I'll be gone then, for when you must be alone