The Old Matchbook Trick

Last time that I came here, came down with a fever
Next day it was gone with the suddenness of its arrival
When we all were much younger, were we really different
In the really real world we knew?
In the really real world we knew

Last night, I saw the sun rise over sleepy Barcelona
Riding in a bus with the road crew from Embrace
Everyone was sleeping, I noticed a reflection
And saw the age upon my face
And saw the age upon my face

Ooh-ooh
Ooh-ooh-ooh
Ooh-ooh

Last thing I remember about waking up in Kristiansand
Was gagging on my toothbrush as it wiped across my tongue
Removed a drunken sailor, paid his bar and porno bill
Gonna have to fuckin' hose him down
Gonna have to fuckin' hose him down

The clarity isn't blinding
Where's the befuddled middleman?
The gentle goofus with his comedy and wit
Spaced out in the crowd with the cramped and the cluttered
Falls from his fingers to your hand
Falls from your fingers to his hand

Ooh-ooh
Ooh-ooh-ooh
Ooh-ooh

The old matchbook trick keeps the table from wobble
Slipped under the short leg, steadies the unsteadiness
Lopsided conversation makes a solid place to rest
Arms and thought upon
Arms and thought upon

Ooh-ooh
Ooh-ooh-ooh
Ooh-ooh