[Verse 1] I was going to clear the table, there are papers underneath. There’s a list I made on Monday of the things I meant to finish before Tuesday disappeared. I was halfway through the first one when I heard something outside. So I left the papers waiting. They are very good at waiting. They’ve had years of practice now. [Chorus] I’ll get there. I usually do. Not by the shortest way, not when I said I would. There’s always something on the way to something else. And sometimes that becomes the thing. [Verse 2] There are flowers in the hallway. There’s a melody upstairs. There’s a house in another country that already feels like somewhere I have started living in. I keep thinking I should choose one. Give the whole thing one good name. But the minute I define it something else comes through the doorway and I recognize it too. [Chorus] I’ll get there. I usually do. Not by the shortest way, not when I said I would. There’s always something on the way to something else. And sometimes that becomes the thing. [Bridge] I’ve spent too long assuming there was somewhere I should arrive. A proper answer. A finished room. A sentence with a full stop. But every time I close one door I hear music from the other side. [Verse 3] So the papers stay there longer. And eventually get done. The flowers leave with strangers. The song becomes another one. And somewhere south of here a room is waiting with my desk. I haven’t worked out what this is. I’m beginning to suspect I don’t have to. [Final Chorus] I’ll get there. Whatever there may be. Not by the shortest way. That was never really me. There’s always something on the way to something else. And sometimes— that’s the way.
