Everyday life, everyday life
Something somewhere, just ain't right.

It's half past eight and I'm here again.
I'd go for a walk but it's pissing down with rain.
And if I went for a walk I'd get my head kicked in
'Cause looking like a punk is some fucking sin.

All this boredom, all this drink
All the times I've tried to think.
So I jump on a bus and go somewhere else
And I sit in a pub and I talk to myself.

So sod the apathy, sod the ideas.
I'm only restricted by my fears.
Give me a chance and I'll tell you what's wrong.
Or give me a pen and I'll write another song.