Another night at the Palace
'cause there is nothing else to do.
The same people, the same drinks and the same music,
the same quicksand
I think this harbour town is waist deep and sinking fast.
You've found an enemy in me
Hello city, hello city.
Second night at the Warehouse,
and my mock turtleneck just reeks.
From the liquor room to the changeroom,
to the doom and gloom
of the hotel room,
I wish this seaside beerhall would
sink into the bay.
Maybe I caught you at a bad time,
maybe I should call you back next week,
maybe half the fault was mine that
the sun didn't shine on Barrington Street.
It's three o'clock in the morning,
and I'm hungry so let's eat.
Climb down three flights to the streetlights
and the bar-fights, we're just taking in the sights.
I hope tomorrow that I wake up in my own bed.