I Watch the park quieten from the hotel window, I hear 
you softly sleep amongst the cars and saluting 
songbirds,
For a city whose size had scared me for years right now 
it's a feeble evening row, not un-similar to a beach 
evening ending
On the table to my left there's a magazine with a 
picture of dead money, making a mockery of what I'd 
call art
But what would I know about the scene in the city that 
has swallowed up friends lovers and family,
Just give me a village the size of a teacup
You're happier here spread out with your eyes closed,
I feel I should order a drink in celebration to welcome 
the summer, whose first day is ending
Should you wake you'd catch me of course and ask me the 
wisdom of drinking once more
I cast me mind back to yesterdays wedding where we got 
drunk and fell over
I did my best to be polite to a family I'd never met, 
but on numerous occasions, I guess, I could have tried 
harder
Of course by the end of the night I was a best friend 
with everyone and every ones wife but right now I 
couldn't remember their names no matter how hard ii try

As the sun glares through the hotel window I wonder of 
our future and where it will lead to,
I wonder if you'll be laying there 10 years 20 years 30 
years down the line
I'll still be staring out at the street confused about 
love and life,
It'll be interesting to see if anyone every bought 
those songs of mine if anyone heard those words that I 
never got quite right,
I think I can be honest in presuming the world is not 
using my songs in adverts selling oranges or lemons,
Who knows I may end up owning the whole street, or more 
likely sleeping under tree in the park opposite
Would the runners keep me awake or would I keep them 
asleep
I'd hope I have the sense to move back home, as lovely 
as today is, I'd imagine the winter would be rather 
cold

I'd been told for years that the devil had the best 
tunes and that the devil lived down here whereas us 
country folk weren't worth the salt from the road
Ex pat magazine editors who choose to loose their 
temper on the easily persuaded northern town dwellers
And sure enough 99 percent of the people I meet have 
scant regard for entertaining me, it seems I'm too old 
too slow too quiet and just wrong
And I'm glad. In their cocaine fuelled electronic 
cabarets I'll be the man at the bar drinking overpriced 
whiskey from a bar maid who's to good to catch my eye
She only works here two nights a week, the rest of the 
time she's a singer in a rock and roll band
I bet she'd change her tune if I told her my album had 
peaked at number 172 and that I also had friends who 
worked in bars and that didn't define who they are
Though it certainly helps their capacity to drink.

But I've strayed off the subject
Now I'll be leaning over and waking you up, and you'll 
squint at me through the cracks between your eyelids, 
woozy with cider
As if you're asking exactly where we are and exactly 
what I wanted.
And I'll be happy because we won't be taking anything 
too seriously.