Michael Chisholm
Home Town
I stand here and moan about this town
All my dreams revolve about moving away
Stuck here though till my grave that’s what they say.
Stand and complain that there’s nothing to do,
Half these fool don’t even have a clue
Have you seen what they wear
All Henley’s and trainers
and That permanent slouch
Somehow Satisfied by the 9 to 5
and the bip-bop soundtrack to their days
The only way to get by is in a drunken haze
and latching on to the next craze
Ill moan about my friends
The rain that never ends
The deluge of their lives
Yet somehow I still like living in this town
Patches and Places
These clothes don't fit any more, there are new patches over the places time had worn away.
This town doesn't fit any more, there are new places to cover up the stains.
We don't fit here anymore, we've changed.
Wait no these clothes are fine, vintage is all the rage, who cares if mine are just worn with
age, patches that's the next craze.
This place ain't so bad, trendy bars they are the latest fad.
We're the same, nothing's happened nothing's changed.
These clothes are alive they've evolved there part of my skin, memories engrained and
thoughts within.
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