Sitting on the bench
Their rears are growing bigger
Hard to understand such attraction of wood

I can see the days ahead
Easy to get them out of bed
Sun, rain or snow
I know where they’ll go

Carve your name in the wood
So people know
Who you are like you should

Take a walk past the junction
and back again
Round and round and round and round we go

A useless game
The rules are in the alcohol
A waste of a day and a waste of a brain

Sitting on the bench
Their rears are growing bigger
Hard to understand such attraction of wood

Alcohol and televisions, bakeries and tacky rock n roll
The fast track to their souls