Every summer, every weekend, every fucking night

I tell myself today’s the day

The day I write that song

The one that starts the album

The one I’m gonna write myself

 

Because I can come to terms with the fact the band went to the morticians

While I teach kids at the academy

But I won’t come to terms with that’s it

When I still have something to say

Even if I don’t quite know what it is

Because sometimes feelings are too big to condense

And you fear garbled words won’t make enough sense

Or, worse, will be met with indifference

And I’m only just one guy

Who can barely play a bass guitar

So who am I?

To write an album when I can’t even read music?

Just been banging these same four strings since ‘96

An old dog with no new tricks

Still tuned badly in open E

The way my best friend once showed me

Because that’s what his dad taught him

And we’re all so strangely shaped by fathers

Even when they’re not our own

When your dad’s not around

Because he’d rather be fucking around

You make do with what you can

 

So Every summer, every weekend, every fucking night

I tell myself today’s the day

The day I write that song

The one that starts the album

The one I’m gonna write myself