Lyrics:

It's a high beam drive and I think of you sitting at home
Your dad's TV Weeks stacked to the window
And before I know I just catch your face
Washed in a Panadol light
I'd let you know that I'd be here
That's not my style

And way all up and down the line
Standard time, standard time
White metal on a wet, black drive
They're all calendar days, but you try
To break out

And that old best friend
Is a Zamel's ad
Bleeding ink on wet pavement
Or blazing on a model's hand
And there's a kind of quiet
A fighter jet's applause
They're all saw-toothed fragments
Scattered in an empty hall

And I'm reminded of a rewinding cassette
As tyre rubber comes blooming around your legs
And I'm waking up and the sky is pure appliance white
A day as true as TV cop flashback

And way all up and down the line
Standard time, standard time
White metal on a wet, black drive
They're all calendar days, but you try
To break out