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The Smith Street Band
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Sunshine & Technology
Ain't no sunshine in technology, no holiness in God,
Magic in the industry or peace that's built on bombs,
And I'll believe in everything,
That don't mean I'm not wrong.
Because if I was right then surely then surely I'd be something that I'm not.
The grand reappearance of the passion and the fear happens,
Walking past the commission flats high out of my mind,
As end comes to a meaning's end, everything makes sense,
I forget sometimes that I'm alive,
A gunshot explodes in the distance; we all offer some weak resistance,
I hear trains rattle their late assistance to a thousand people a day,
All going the other way,
And I maintain the straightest line I can, try and do something with my hands,
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As I patch myself up with gaffer tape, hoping to hold together for the great escape.
We're living on impulse and the times we don't get caught.
We're living off each other despite the suicide attempts,
Car accidents and all these filthy fucking cigarettes.
So I listen to talk back radio and I practice conversation, hearing and patience,
And I've never had a brother, but now I have a few.
And we deal with our first world problems with suitable aplomb,
We learn to love the beast, we learn to dodge the bomb,
And everything that matters to me, you wrote down in song,
But I ask you Tom, 'Where have all the kids from the corners gone?'
It's Saturday and they're all indoors.
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