It was one of those days when everything was kind of damp. Spent my afternoon being chaperoned from middle man to middle man. When all you get's a fool's gold flash in the pan and the line you paid forty bucks for tastes of bleach and stale contraband. And the girl I loved now more than I ever had, woke up coming down in the arms of a real man, surrounded by the overpowering odour of shared house, bleach and a lack of contraband. So I tried to understand
But I was dying for a cigarette like I didn't know they'd k** me, listening to records in your bedroom named after great American cities and we got busted in the suburbs by the short and overpowering blonde girl. And your mum's boyfriend called me trash, but that's okay cause you don't call him dad, you just call him when you want some cash or to make somebody feel bad. But you were still the best that I ever had
On the V-Line bus back to the motherland from our own slice of paradise on the water and sand. f**ing on the beach while the sun rose and the cold salt water washed dried blood from my nose. And we ha**led kids so much to come to our shows, but most of them said, "Look, son, we never really wanted to go." They said, "Singer-songwriters bore the hell out of me." And I said, "I'm not a singer-songwriter and I never f**ing will be."
And it took eighteen months, two houses, three life partners, a dog, a needle and a stolen guitar and countless IOUs for me to say, "I'm sorry, I'm just really far away."