I came back home. I mucked about.
I hope I never work it out.
I doubt there’s much we have to do.
I doubt there’s anythin’ to prove.
It’s all a bit of wastin’ time
and pickin’ sweets along the vine.
Plus on the brink of full collapse,
go easy, bruh, on runnin’ laps.
Remember, now, you really can
just laugh at how it’s hit the fan.
But all that for another day.
For now, I love you Adelaide.
We’re all just trying our best,
even those
attempting
to wreck us.
And hey, that includes, after all,
ourselves.
Then one day,
you wake up
and realise you’re no one,
and no one cares,
especially women.
You figure, well,
lads are wearing heels these days
to make the losing easier
—men who couldn’t claim a thing
are claiming women’s bathrooms.
But, no, you won’t do that.
There’s a wall of solid brick
that used to be mist.
You wake up,
you realise you’re no one,
and no one cares.
Ominously,
you hardly care yourself.
