In a provincial town
The days drift by like thistle down
Even change pads around like a prisoner out on parole

In a provincial town
The bands are only hand me down
A pale imitation of stars with their songs always played on the run

But in provincial towns
The happiness can hang around
Carried from the trees and the breeze to the tollways and days like these

In a provincial town
Where morning in a dressing gown
The sun trips on the stairs catching night unawares as she makes her way out

But in provincial towns
The happiness can hang around
Carried from the trees on the breeze to the tollways or days like these

In a provincial town