It's a midwinter Friday and there's not a car on this highway
That wouldn't hit me just to get home
I'm riding punch lines and dregs from the pouch that we split
Somewhere back on Punt Road
And the big neon signs they all intertwine
With the passing cars' headlights burning my eyes
In this city of excuses, dead palm trees and useless transport
I use my legs to get to you on time

But silence speaks louder than words that we don't understand
And I know the language is made out of
One-upmanship and sleight of hand
But it's all we've got to explain how they made us
Unable to explain how they made us
Unable to explain how they

And I'm naked except for donations, rank revelations
My own bad behavior, pissing off the neighbours
Lying to colleagues about how interesting I am
Just so part of me is nothing like them and
The clubs up on Swan Street pulse to the backbeat of violence and sadness and god awful sweat heat
They tarnish reputations and they smash up train stations
So angry they forgot what they were angry about
This city is a punching bag for the punished to let something out

But how can you stay mad when the red sun spits straight through the clouds like this?
And the cold bites my skin
And you bite my upper lip