It's a high beam drive and I think of you sitting at home Your dad's TV Weeks stacked to the window And before I knock I just catch your face Washed in the Panadol light I'd let you know that I'd be here, but that's not my style And way all up and down the line Standard time, standard time White metal on a wet, black drive They're all calendar days, but you try to break out And that old best friend is a Zamels ad Bleeding ink on wet pavement or blazing on a model hand And there's a kind of quiet, a fighter jet's applause They're all saw-toothed fragments scattered in an empty hall And I'm reminded of a rewinding cassette As tyre rubber comes blooming around your legs And I'm waking up and the sky is pure appliance white A day as true as TV cop flashback And way all up and down the line Standard time, standard time White metal on a wet, black drive They're all calendar days, but you try to break out