Have you seen the nearly man who lives down Almost Lane.
He remembers yesterday, an inch away from fame.
A life of love and promises. A legend in the game.
Opportunities gone by, nothing, stays the same.
Wrong place, wrong time, wrong face, wrong name.
A losing player in life's cruel game.
Does no one even care.
Wrong time, wrong place, wrong name, wrong face.
The nearly man, no state of grace.
But still nobody cares.
He lives his life from day to day, no future, aim or plan.
With constant pain his alibi, there goes the nearly man.
Like driftwood floating aimlessly and tossed up on the shore.
Still hoping for the higher ground the nearly man implores.
His humour as infectious as the bad luck that resides.
The victim complex casually sitting by his side.
The almost famous lifestyle still waiting in the wings.
The fame and glory imminent the moment that he sings.
