Nothing Cures Melancholy Like Looking at Maps

I put the pedal to the metal and I

Carry myself home again

And again, and again, and again, and again

With every repetition comes a new edition to my

Twenty first century

Map of proto-human history

That's where the kids threw the brick through our window

And that's the railway line that we used to climb

On

Consecutive Fridays

Free of consequence by the Purley Way

Just sunken friends on a drunken rooftop

Praying the police won't call for us

I was a natural blonde for three whole years

Hydrogen peroxide stained all I touched

All I touched, all I touched, all I touched, all I touched

Turned to gold while my brain turned off

We all sing the same old songs

We just sing em different now

Some actions will have consequences

That will not become apparent

Until a time so far off

I can't even begin to grasp it