Intro (half-spoken, cigarette-in-hand delivery over a simple ascending guitar line) There’s that burnt-toast smell drifting down the stairwell again… Flat 27… same as always… probably same next week too… Verse 1 He catches the 8:14, always by the sliding doors, Same grey coat he’s had since the mid-nineties wars, Little thinning spot he thinks nobody clocks, Checks his phone for likes — just scams and inbox shocks. Talks about the islands but never clicks “book now”, “Next year, definitely” — same promise, same row. Pre-Chorus And the fridge is droning like it’s got news to break, And the walls are quietly keeping score of every mistake… Chorus He lives in a flat A very small flat in the city (Oh-oh, blow, blow me out, I don’t know why) He lives in a flat A very small flat in the city Netflix on repeat Ready meals to eat In the city-y-y-y Verse 2 She does brand content but no one knows her face, Puts the same brave filter on in every place, Got a rescue cat named existential weight, Buys it fancy biscuits, cries at half past eight. They nod on the staircase, quick and polite, Both praying the other won’t start a real chat tonight. Pre-Chorus And the lift’s been dead for the seventeenth week, Hallway bulb flickers like it’s about to speak… Chorus He lives in a flat A very small flat in the city (Oh-oh, blow, blow me out, I don’t know why) He lives in a flat A very small flat in the city Wi-Fi cuts to black Dreams that fade to lack In the city-y-y-y Verse 3 Friday-night takeaway lands at ten to eleven, Tips the rider more than he’s got spare in heaven, Scrolls through ancient photos of a life he never had, Festival wristband, rose-tinted specs, feeling sad. Verse 4 She plays true-crime pods while the damp spreads slow, Mould draws quiet maps on the kitchen wall’s flow, Bassline thumps up gently from the flat beneath, Wondering if those people ever actually sleep. Chorus We live in a flat A very small flat in the city (Oh-oh, blow, blow me out, we don’t know why) We live in a flat A very small flat in the city Other lives look bright We’re stuck on overnight In the city-y-y-y Bridge (music drops — just bass, drums, sad organ/synth pad) Three in the morning and the city starts to breathe, Windows glowing yellow, little lives of make-believe, You whisper “tomorrow I’ll finally change the script”, But tomorrow’s only today with a different bin to lift… Verse 5 Monday rolls in sharp like a repo man’s tap, Same tired rhythm clicking on repeat, snap-snap, Still he grins at the mirror, mutters “you’ll survive”, Pulls the grey coat on, steps back into the drive. Final Chorus (bigger, gang-shout backing vocals) We live in a flat A very small flat in the city (Blow, blow me out, we don’t know why!) We live in a flat A very small flat in the city It’s rubbish but it’s home And we’re never gonna roam From the city-y-y-y Outro (slows, returns to the intro guitar figure) Flat 27… Same burnt-toast haze… See you again tomorrow… Most likely…
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