Nothing Cures Melancholy Like Looking at Maps

I put the pedal to the metal and I Carry myself home again And again, and again, and again, and again With every repetition comes a new edition to my Twenty first century Map of proto-human history That's where the kids threw the brick through our window And that's the railway line that we used to climb On Consecutive Fridays Free of consequence by the Purley Way Just sunken friends on a drunken rooftop Praying the police won't call for us I was a natural blonde for three whole years Hydrogen peroxide stained all I touched All I touched, all I touched, all I touched, all I touched Turned to gold while my brain turned off We all sing the same old songs We just sing em different now Some actions will have consequences That will not become apparent Until a time so far off I can't even begin to grasp it"