| We are bitter losers, snarling through our smiles
|
| We’re the lost boys, in the supermarket isles
|
| We’re Christmas dogs, dumped by the side of the road
|
| Confused, we will run for miles
|
| We are road rage
|
| We are stone age
|
| We are wild
|
| We are busted light bulbs, in a backstreet neon sign
|
| We’re the shaking gun, in a service station line
|
| We’ll drink though we’re drunk,
|
| We’ll sink though we’ve sunk
|
| We’re fucked but we say that we’re fine
|
| We are rampage,
|
| Missing back page’s in our spine
|
| We long, for journeys and the roadside
|
| We long, for starlight and the low tide
|
| Yeah, we long, for fairy tales and firesides
|
| And oh,
|
| We are coffeehouse cynics,
|
| Too righteous, too rigid to believe
|
| Disappointed romantics,
|
| Scraping the heart’s from our sleeves
|
| We’re the toothless drunk,
|
| We’re the ageing punk
|
| Yeah, we are Adam,
|
| We’re the apple and we’re Eve
|
| We are beggars with shiny pennies, on our knees
|
| We long, for sunlight on the hillsides
|
| Yeah, we long, for yesterdays and hindsight
|
| Oh, we long, for fairy tales and firesides
|
| And oh,
|
| Yeah we long for carnivals and fairground rides
|
| Oh, we long for journeys and the roadsides
|
| Oh, we long for fairy tales and firesides |