Sitting around waiting for the town to calm down, a hundred years passed / taking it’s time. Stood up in the busiest place alone, old brain has seen this all before, The grey fades, the grey shines.
Like the sound goes south on speakers blown, a mess blurred fuzz wound down and gone, The fastest always seemed to finish first, it was me the slowest one, the never one.
The night ended up in a fight outside with a guy and a pint glass – the smell of the street was still in my nose next day, next morning. Sun up Blood up.