I found my way home after getting lost in Camden Town
And I was on my own, sick of making eyes at everyone
Past the old burnt out brewery, this is where my morning starts
My blood shot eyes in the sun rise, a requiem to the night before
and I'm not writing songs about you anymore
everyone in this hopeless town walks around with their collars pulled tight
to keep the cold out, babe I know you'll be around
I wont wake till the evening light
and I'm not writing songs about you anymore
and even if she comes sweet lipped, and even if she comes at all
I wont wait no week now, anymore, anyhow
No we're not writing songs about you anymore
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