Everybody’s got themselves a plan,
Everybody thinks they’ll be the man, including the girls.
The musicians who lack the friends to form a band are singer-songwriters,
The rest of us are DJ’s or official club photographers.
And tonight I’m playing another Nambucca show,
So I’m going through my phonebook, texting everyone I know,
And I quite a few I don’t, whose numbers found their way into my phone,
But they might come along anyway, you never really know.

None of this is going anywhere –
Pretty soon we’ll all be old,
And no one left alive will really care
About our glory days, when we sold our souls.

But if you’re all about the destination, then take a fucking flight.
We’re going nowhere slowly, but we’re seeing all the sights.
And we’re definitely going to hell,
But we’ll have all the best stories to tell.