Day - and old Maureen comes
With her plastic bags
And her fags and beer
To sit on a bench
And watch the day go by
Over the bridge the first trains come
Bringing fresh waves of commuters
Who ride from the suburbs
To sit in offices full of telephones and computers
Up in the flats a baby cries for its mother
And two lovers cry out to each other
Before the alarm tears them from each other's arms
To the world of work - and its folly
But this town is full of drinkers and smokers
And park-bench-sitters like me
All wondering if we'll ever be
What we were meant to be
The sun goes down
And the clouds drift overhead
And day ends as it began
With all the world has left unsaid
Maureen in a daze
The baby lulled to sleep
And through the darkening terraces
The long shadows creep
But this town is full of drinkers and smokers
And park-bench-sitters like me
All wondering if we'll ever be
What we were meant to be
This town is full of drinkers and smokers
And park-bench-sitters like me
Wandering
Through their days