Friday night, it is raining and I find you here Our local pub hasn't change through all these years Around you I everything remains the samed But through the smoke I can see your eyes are now grey
I'm not like you I still have these dreams Every fucking pint has a joyful taste
Can you tell me How your hours have turn to days How things you loved are dead and you've gone astray Around you you everything remains the same But inside you our youth, our hopeful youth's dead
I'm not like you I still have these dreams Every fucking pint has a joyful taste