[Intro — low, dry, over a dirty pulse] Some things do not need an invitation. They know where you live. They know what time you wake up. Very efficient. [Verse 1] The alarm goes off before the dream has finished its defence. The kettle dies the very morning you decide to make some sense. One sock vanishes. The other waits politely in the drawer. Someone rings when you are naked. Someone knocks when you ignore. The milk goes bad on Sunday. The boiler chooses Christmas Eve. And every traffic light turns red the moment you decide to leave. [Pre-Chorus] No conspiracy. No higher plan. Just life with excellent timing. [Chorus] Scheduled events. Right on time. Little disasters standing neatly in a line. Scheduled events. Nothing personal. Nothing new. The world does not arrange itself around what works for you. Coffee spills. The phone will ring. The key will hide. The train will leave. Scheduled events. You do not have to believe. They believe in you. [Verse 2] The neighbour finds a drilling machine at eight on Saturday. Your dentist finds a problem you had somehow hoped away. A bill arrives the week you finally feel financially wise. A friend says: “Just one minute,” and steals half your night with their eyes. The rain begins exactly when the umbrella stays at home. Your mother calls to ask a question she already seems to know. [Pre-Chorus] There is comfort in predictability. Unfortunately, so is there boredom. [Chorus] Scheduled events. Right on time. Little disasters standing neatly in a line. Scheduled events. Nothing personal. Nothing new. The world does not arrange itself around what works for you. Coffee spills. The phone will ring. The key will hide. The train will leave. Scheduled events. You do not have to believe. They believe in you. [Bridge — stripped, bass and percussion] Then there are the larger appointments. The ones we do not write down. Children grow. Parents age. Friends move away. Bodies change. Rooms become quiet. Names disappear from address books. And one morning you notice the face in the mirror has attended more meetings than you remember scheduling. Still. The kettle boils. Mostly. [Verse 3] So I have stopped demanding that existence show good taste. It has none. That saves a surprising amount of time and waste. The bus will come when I light a cigarette. The lift will stop on every floor. Someone will say: “It could be worse.” Someone always has before. And somewhere a delivery man is looking for my house. He will find it when I’m sleeping. Naturally. Without a doubt. [Final Chorus — bigger, dirtier] Scheduled events. Right on time. Tiny accidents and ordinary crimes. Scheduled events. Birthdays. Bills. Goodbyes. Rain. A missing key. A waiting room. A little joy. A little pain. The strange thing is— between them all, between the things we cannot choose, there are mornings we did not expect to love and somehow do not lose. Scheduled events. Fine. Let them come. I’ll put the kettle on. [Outro — low, amused] Some things cannot be avoided. Apparently, neither can tea.
