Rainy Night in Bolton

It's only fucking Bolton 
But it feels so far from home 
And I feel so bloody displaced 
In this hotel bar on my own. 

There’s an indie band sitting here 
Talking with some manager-type 
About being the next big thing. 
They look like the real deal. 
Perhaps I should make a move 
So when they get all famous 
And they’re on the telly 
And my mates are watching 
I can say, I shagged that one. 

It is an utterly stupid thought 
But I’m utterly stupidly horny tonight. 
I barely ever go above one 
On the one-to-ten scale 
But now I’m through the roof 
And I am finding myself wishing 
That on the train ride up here 
I’d had the foresight to Google 
How to initiate a one-night stand. 

Another utterly stupid thought 
But intelligence has deserted me. 
My thoughts haven’t made sense 
For who knows how long now. 
What is this unnamed feeling? 
Why is it clawing away at me? 
And what answers will I find here? 
I needed to escape the shit at home 
But Bolton’s a funny place to hide. 

I look over at the band. 
The cute one has turned his back to me. 
The druggie one ain’t my thing. 
I’m tempted to ask them 
To prove they can sing 
But their meeting is over. 
They step out into the wet and cold. 
The bar falls empty and quiet. 
I go to my bed alone.