 The same old pub with the same old folk
The same sticky table made of chestnut oak
The same old stout and the same bad jokes
And we laugh and we sway almost every other day
And it's true what they say
We don't belong here, no
We don't belong here
Was it worth the wait?
He wished away every day
When I was a young boy, I dreamed of being an adult
Now I long for the simplicity of being a reckless child
Throwing stones, climbing trees, digging holes
Decades later, brittle bones, mental disease, financial goals
I've become my own traitor
And every day, this town becomes a little part of me
Still, every day, a part of this town grows apart from me
Yes, and every day, I find myself, understandably, misunderstood
Yes, and every day, I develop more love and hate for this place that we call Brentwood
The same old T-shirt and the same old jeans
The same old footpaths and muddy ravines
The same reality and the same old dreams
I wanted to feel like a ship but instead I'm a submarine
Submerged in fickle shit
I don't belong here, no
I don't belong here
Was it worth the wait?
He wished away every day
When I was a young boy, I dreamed of being an adult
Now I long for the simplicity of being a reckless child
You made a wish, blew out the flames, ate the icing on the He-Man cake
Now that's finished, we're not the same, this is precisely what young David said was fake
And every day, this town becomes a little part of me
Still, every day, part of this town grows apart from me, yeah
Yes, and every day, I find myself, understandably, misunderstood, yeah
Yes, and every day, I develop more love and hate for this place that we call Brentwood
I'm trying to belittle the way I used to think
And I'm trying to be committal but the foundations still sink
I keep telling myself that it'll be the same in any other town
If you switch all the names around it'll still be Brentwood town
If you switch the letters around, you're left with bored town
Was it worth the wait?
He wished away every day
When I was a young boy, I dreamed of being an adult
Now I long for the simplicity of being a reckless child
We would bunk school and get shitty grades
We'd smoke and laugh until we could not breathe
Never play the stalls, we don't get paid
We're not chief of staff, we're still so naive
And every day, this town becomes a little part of me
Still, every day, a part of this town grows apart from me
Yes, and every day, I find myself, understandably, misunderstood
Yes, and every day, I develop more love and hate for this place that we call Brentwood
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