forty

Loserville

In the big Airport
I wait for the small bus
That whisks me off to a small town

Been to the big city again
Still haven't found my fortune
And now I'm on my way home to
Loserville

Been here a mighty long time
Drinking wine and watching the TV
Listening to the buses come and go, but always returning to
Loserville

The kerbs are dusty, and sometimes paper blows there
And plastic and cardboard too, dropped by the dustmen
Nobody notices them, they stay there, everyone stays in
Loserville

(I've a lump in my throat, I've crashed the party again...
It's no good looking at the horizon for help)

So I buy another CD, and take it home
Singing alone to myself with the curtains closed
If I open them, I see omly lonely streets and hear dark empty shouts
In Loserville

Back from an interview, another wasted journey
Though I summon up every bit of spark I have
I forget words, clever thoughts have died, my eyes are dull
I'm sure they can see in them
The Dead of Loserville