Friday night, same street, same rain on the glass, Same old thoughts doing laps while the evening goes past, Phone in my hand but I don’t know who to call, Got a head full of noise and a room feeling small. I step outside, let the cold hit my face, Everybody moving like they’re running some race, Bus rolls past with the windows steamed white, And the whole town looks different under sodium light. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s everything. You still thinking? Yeah. Again? Yeah. Is it me? Is it you? Is it something we forgot to do? Round and round, Same old view, Different night but the same old truth. There’s a bloke on the corner talking loud to the air, Nobody listening but nobody really cares, Someone laughs from a window three floors above, Someone’s arguing downstairs about money and love. And I walk past thinking, “Mate, that’s me.” Different jacket, Different street, Same bloody disease. “Yeah, but you’re alright though.” Am I? You tell me. I thought I’d figured it out. You never figure it out. I thought I’d grown up. That’s what they tell you. So what happens now? Turn it up. Turn it up… Turn it up… Turn it— Same old road, New shoes, Same old head, Different news. I keep looking for the answer In the places that I knew, But the answer keeps moving Every time I think I’m through. Is it me? Is it you? Is it something we forgot to do? Round and round, Same old view, Different night but the same old truth. You still thinking? Always. You still moving? Always. You still here? Always.
