It’s eight o’clock
In an empty street
A land locked state has nothing to offer
Only empty streets
Where empty thoughts fill my head
No one speaks to me
So I walk with a mind
That takes me back
To the years that have passed me by
It’s eight o’clock
In the shop windowpane
That man is my friend
Not the same man from way back
He would stand here
Whiskey bottle in hand
And the night would not be his friend
It is so hard to believe
That it’s me that I see in a raincoat
In the windowpane
It’s hard to believe
Having come all this way
At eight o’clock
I’m not looking to find sympathy
I do not lament the time
The innocence
But remain ever conscious
At eight o’clock
Not to seek repayment
For once being sixteen
Too old now to button my flies
It’s eight o’clock
How did I make this far
From the fishlike smells
The cabbage green skies
To yesterday
As I crossed the road
To see myself in a windowpane
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