Sunny Intervals is a lo-fi indiepop band from London.
An indiepop side project from London.
Lyrics
Quarter past eight on a damp Tuesday evening
In a bar just off Tottenham Court Road
With the Thrills playing KOKO
And out to the west you'll find Rush playing Wembley
In Boston the people are heading for lunch
And in Tallin they're heading for bed
In Lisbon and Cape Town there's people in bars that are kind of like this one
And maybe you're say on a Silverlink train
Or preparing a meal in your flat
Maybe you finally fled from the city to the peace of the countryside
Maybe you flew to the States on secondment and fell for some high-flying guy
Maybe you're finshing lunch out in Boston in a seventies diner there
First off the blocks
A clean pair of heels and you never looked back...
Straight out of Camden, spring in heels, it's a Friday, and it's lazy weather
And you're looking sublime, you're all zips and pockets and bracelets made of plastic
It's a sharp relief as I shut my eyes to the sunshine as you scan the city
For the dogs in the park and the goths and punks having picnics
So give me perspective, my head is drifting
To a caffeine rush in communal kitchens
A friendly face is a rare oasis around here
So give me perspective, time to address this
A cafe/bar with no flipping guest list
Or rest my head and then shut my eyes to the streets
I'm at ninety degrees
A kick in the teeth, it's the working week and I'm working in the Merchant City
A new pair of shoes, a new attitude and it's chaos in the boardroom
There's a chart on the wall, it's an old skool blackboard with chalk lines, and the lines are falling
And if Dolly was working nine to five she'd be burned out in the printroom sticking staples in her eyes
So give me perspective, my head is drifting
To college work in communal kitchens
And overtime is just fiction from outdated minds
So give me direction, time for reflection
And I want you dancing without exception
Or rest my head and then shut my eyes to the streets
I'm at ninety degrees
And all of a sudden you catch yourself, it's a weeknight, and it's hell tomorrow
And if Dolly was working nine to five she'd be burned out in the printroom sticking staples in her eyes
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