im gonna tell you a storey told almost a thousand times before

about a man who ambles through rain in his pale black trench coat

his eyes so red and his red heart so cold

anythings better than going home alone 

he puts his head to the sky and tries catching the drops on his tounge

starts slurring his favourite anthem from 1981

the neighbours walk by and think hes just an aged alcholic turned numb

from present and future and what this place has become

but its more than that, hes stuck in his ways and hell always falls back

bottle full vodka and enough stress to cause a double heart attack

he blames everything from the kids to the crackheads even the war in iraq

walkin down the point road at 3am at 35 and he hasnt done jack

i feel so sorry for him, in 30 odd years well all be the spitting image

spitting tar or blood from our lungs thinking about our old age

and are we gonna make it, when we where dumb,young and stupid

trying to get into the pubs as early as thirteen to get thrown on the pavement

we never take advantage of what the man on the road tells me

get your job get your girl and stay away from the drinking

but rebelious sides seem to line the adolesents blood stream

we look in the miror every sunday morning

when the hangover hits like a hurricane your still a little tipsy

spending all day beside a toilet, next day you go back to making ends meat

as for now all you need is your fag and a cuppa tea and your lifes complete

now the life we lead and the path we chose 

the rountine,speed, and the mindset slow

while we shed these years are friends turn foes

we fall from grace, as we get old

our last priority is not to be the man on that road