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The Blades

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The Blades

Downmarket, The

In an unfamilar bed
In an unfamiliar room
There's a throbbing in my head
I've succeeded I presume
Everything's black and white and grey
Living from day to day to day
I suppose I can't be choosy, when there's not too many choices
With the problems of the nation
I'm not waiting at an airport
I'm not waiting at a station
I'm standing at a bus stop. Downmarket. Downmarket.
On a rainy afternoon
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On a gambling machine
Same old jukebox, same old tune
It's hard to break this old routine
Everything's black and white and grey
Living from day to day to day
It's a fatal resignation, when there's nothing left to hope for
In a hopeless situation
I'm not waiting at an airport
I'm not waiting at a station
I'm standing at a bus stop. Downmarket. Downmarket.