Tonight you hit Saint AlbansnWith snot hanging out of your nosenBut you don't find out til the hotel,nWhen you go to change your clothesnnYou know you're filthynbut you don't have time to showernCause you have to meet that Polish girlnYou don't even have the sense to get her flowersnnYou turn up at the cafénThere's a bloke sat at her sidenAnd you know that something's different 'cause nShe looks like someone's diednnStill you try to keep it friendlynAnd imagine you're together, in your headnBut the bloke keeps chipping in aboutnWhatever she just saidnnNo one wants to know you in this townnIt's a place that doesn't need you aroundnSaint Albans wants you to drownnnTomorrow you'll be focusednAnd heading for the futurenWith a new-found sense of optimism thatnDoesn't fucking suit younnBut anything could happennFrom one day and the nextnAnd you're only in Saint AlbansnBecause you thought you were having sexnnNo one wants to fuck you in this townnIt's a place that doesn't lead you aroundnSaint Albans wants you out