In leaving, he took a look out,
Wet streets, now he's down the stairwell,
The path on which he's travelled so much.
Familiarity's within his clutch.
The breeze cuts into his raincoat,
Sidewalk moves below his feet slow.
Keeps walking in a private haze,
Faces pass, never break his gaze.
He ambles with a fanciful thought,
An outing of cackles enticed by a single thought.
He enters the usual caf ,
Drinks a cup and is on his way.

But he's not headed for a lively space,
He's well content with his own place.
What others see as a horrible shame,
The fact that his days are all the same.

Somewhere people own a habit
But deny any proof they have it.
Somewhere he'll sit parading his thoughts,
Past a crowd of clowns waving like robots.
His world in order and locked from inside,
The pull-tab key is safe in his pocket.

But he's not headed for a lively place,
He's well content with his own space.
What others see as a terrible shame,
The fact that his days are all the same.

He ambles with a fanciful thought,
And familiarity is all he's got.

In leaving, he took a look out,
Wet streets, now he's down the stairwell,
The path on which he's travelled so much,
Familiarity's within his clutch.

But he's not headed for a lively space,
He's well content with his own place.
What others see as a horrible shame,
His mind's made up in any case.
What others see as a terrible shame,
He's well content with his own place.
What others see as a horrible shame,
The fact is he'll never change.