Every Weekend

Everyone I know does the same thing every weekend
The men down Lockhart Road living lies in their suits and ties
They make like it’s more than a game
Tales of glory
Peering out on the grass with their minds in the past, now
Get me out of here
I was in need of the feeling of that gold
But I couldn’t shake it my father mightn’t make it alone

‘Holly, how you’ve grown’ from his friends, then it’s on my own
A corner of the room with a view that they hardly use
A break in the grandstand, through, tiny towers
Glinting like the brass on the rims of the old man’s glasses
Get me out of here
Free of the distance of the harbour how it glows
Somehow it's pulled in the sun through a gap in the clouds

I pace the oval slow through the crowd
I’ll try and dodge the girls, they’re talking boys
I turn to an odd surprise, oh my
Where the cars blow horns as the football flies there’s one I recognise
She’s got her hair up but I can’t mistake those eyes
Seems like she she’s hanging around more than I realised


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