Slow

Four days a week I see the drunks in Forest Rec On my way to work, sitting in the sun, getting wrecked Hugging that bench, hugging last friends, chugging rounds, bent They don't bother me, so I don't bother them Dead or green: these eyes... loving that pre-work dread Picking up calls, giving blood, but I never bled I should pack it all in and go and do something else instead I should pack it all in... I'm just a little scared Pop a pill - we wouldn't want you west Sit and chill - and make thanks for the mess Pop a pill - we wouldn't want you west Sit and chill - and make thanks for the mess And this muse was only ever meant to be my mistress Used and confused, with a kiss can come some blisters "Whycliffe, have a bit on this if I can sing along?" I'll admit, it doesn't feel right... but it doesn't feel wrong Pop a pill - we wouldn't want you west Sit and chill - and make thanks for the mess Pop a pill - we wouldn't want you west Sit and chill - and make thanks for the mess Slow down Slow down Slow down Slow down What some see as distance, others see as depths The pit patter 'til you're shattered - and calling it progress Gear changes through to windswept - are you afraid of the stillness? Like bombing bikes with burning legs, bent, air chugging, up and down round Forest Rec Slow down... slow down Slow down... slow down Slow down... slow down Slow down... slow down