Lucy was a shit hot sci-fi writer
With a penchant for a story awfully gory
And she'd certainly killed off a lead or two

But when the money got tight
She started working nights
At a bar on Denmark Street
And the bouncers were pricks, and the punters were thick
And when the yuppies tried to chat her up she'd always tell them

Don't waste your time, your time on me
Cause it's clear that I'm not your ideal company
Don't waste your time, your time on me
Because it's clear that you've got somewhere else that you would rather be

Waiting at a pelican crossing
She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window of passing car
It scared her stiff, how ill she looked
She hadn't written ‘owt in days, cause she was stuck at the bar

And then that evening at work
She had to deal with this burke
Who kept on asking her about her sleeve tattoos
This inarticulate fool
She grabbed his collar, pulled him close and she said

Don't waste your time, your time on me
Cause it's clear that I'm not your ideal company
Don't waste your time, your time on me
Because it's clear that you've got somewhere else that you would rather be