Lyrics:

Near the Palace Hotel, where you used to dwell, engraved against your wishes (one of your greatest misses) — you hope the ink will never dry.
You’re fooling yourself.
You feel set-up.
You’re telling yourself you don’t believe in luck.

On Princess Street, where we used to meet,
we knew not where we were treading,
or how the dye was spreading
— you hope the ink will never dry.
You’re fooling yourself.
You’ve been set-up.

You’re telling yourself you’ve done enough.
Lydia, tell me how hard can it be?
I don’t know about you, but it feels good to me.
Every day we’re miles away from where we are supposed to be.
I don’t know about you, but it feels good to me.