Woozy With Cider Lyrics

I Watch the park quieten from the hotel window, I hear
you softly sleep amongst the cars and saluting
songbirds,
For a city whose size had scared me for years right now
it's a feeble evening row, not un-similar to a beach
evening ending
On the table to my left there's a magazine with a
picture of dead money, making a mockery of what I'd
call art
But what would I know about the scene in the city that
has swallowed up friends lovers and family,
Just give me a village the size of a teacup
You're happier here spread out with your eyes closed,
I feel I should order a drink in celebration to welcome
the summer, whose first day is ending
Should you wake you'd catch me of course and ask me the
wisdom of drinking once more
I cast me mind back to yesterdays wedding where we got
drunk and fell over
I did my best to be polite to a family I'd never met,
but on numerous occasions, I guess, I could have tried
harder
Of course by the end of the night I was a best friend
with everyone and every ones wife but right now I
couldn't remember their names no matter how hard ii try

As the sun glares through the hotel window I wonder of
our future and where it will lead to,
I wonder if you'll be laying there 10 years 20 years 30
years down the line
I'll still be staring out at the street confused about
love and life,
It'll be interesting to see if anyone every bought
those songs of mine if anyone heard those words that I
never got quite right,
I think I can be honest in presuming the world is not
exactly going to be leaping out its bed to make me rich using my songs in adverts selling oranges or lemons,
Who knows I may end up owning the whole street, or more
likely sleeping under tree in the park opposite
Would the runners keep me awake or would I keep them
asleep
I'd hope I have the sense to move back home, as lovely
as today is, I'd imagine the winter would be rather
cold

I'd been told for years that the devil had the best
tunes and that the devil lived down here whereas us
country folk weren't worth the salt from the road
Ex pat magazine editors who choose to loose their
temper on the easily persuaded northern town dwellers
And sure enough 99 percent of the people I meet have
scant regard for entertaining me, it seems I'm too old
too slow too quiet and just wrong
And I'm glad. In their cocaine fuelled electronic
cabarets I'll be the man at the bar drinking overpriced
whiskey from a bar maid who's to good to catch my eye
She only works here two nights a week, the rest of the
time she's a singer in a rock and roll band
I bet she'd change her tune if I told her my album had
peaked at number 172 and that I also had friends who
worked in bars and that didn't define who they are
Though it certainly helps their capacity to drink.

But I've strayed off the subject
Now I'll be leaning over and waking you up, and you'll
squint at me through the cracks between your eyelids,
woozy with cider
As if you're asking exactly where we are and exactly
what I wanted.
And I'll be happy because we won't be taking anything
too seriously.

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