I'm as stubborn as a **** on a concrete street,
I'm as stubborn as the rainfall over London.
And as you walk away, you'll turn to me and say:
“I'm starting to feel that depression.”

I tried to go without drinking for the day,
but soon I was in another queue.
Beer in my hands, cigarettes on the shelf;
oh, I don't know where I am going,
no, I don't know where I am going.

I rehearse all the things that I want to say to you,
in the perfect production within my mind.
It takes a dozen takes, just to get that feeling right;
but now I know just what I am saying,
oh, now I know just what I am saying.

But the words, they will die,
if I feel all right,
so I'm holding onto this depression,
I'm holding onto this depression.

I'm as stubborn as a **** on a concrete street,
I'm as stubborn as the snowfall on the mountain.
I dream of a cottage, down in the south of France;
you and me can get drunk off each other,
yeah you and me will get drunk off each other.

But soon, I will pack
and leave you behind;
I'm taking just what I need
to survive,

I'm taking just what I need
to survive.

Now, I scribble all these words on a page,
and I hope to God someone picks them up,
then turns them into a doctrine for their life;
I just want to be someone's saviour,
oh, I just want to be someone's saviour.

But the words they fall away,
when I feel okay;
so I'm holding onto this depression,
oh, I'm holding onto this depression,
all I've got is my depression,

oh, I'm living for my depression.