I found my way home after getting lost in Camden Town And I was on my own, sick of making eyes at everyone Past the old burnt out brewery, this is where my morning starts My blood shot eyes in the sun rise, a requiem to the night before And I'm not writing songs about you anymore Everyone in this hopeless town walks around with their collars pulled tight To keep the cold out, babe I know you'll be around I wont wake till the evening light And I'm not writing songs about you anymore And even if she comes sweet lipped, and even if she comes at all I wont wait no week now, anymore, anyhow No we're not writing songs about you anymore