Post office clerks put up signs saying position closed. And secretaries turn off typewriters and put on their coats. Janitors padlock the gates, for security guards to patrol. And bachelors phone up their friends for a drink, while the married ones turn on a chat show. And they´ll all be lonely tonight and lonely tomorrow. Gentlemen time please, you know we can´t serve anymore. Now the traffic lights change to stop, when there´s nothing to go. And by five o´clock everything´s dead. And every third car is a cab. And ignorant people sleep in their beds, like the doped white mice in the college lab. Nothing ever happens, nothing happens at all. The needle returns to the start of the song. And we all sing along like before. And we´ll all be lonely tonight, and lonely tomorrow. Telefhone exchanges click while there´s nobody there. The martians could land in the carpack and no one would care. Close-circuit cameras in department stores shoot the same video every day. And the stars of this films neither die nor get killed, just survive constant action replay. Nothing ever happens, nothing happens at all. The needle returns to the start of the song. And we´ll sing along like before. And we´ll all be lonely tonight and lonely tomorrow. Bill hoardings advertise products that nobody needs. While angry from Manchester writes to complain about all the repeats on T.V. And computer terminals report some gains on the values of cooper and tin, while the american businessmen snap up Van Goghs, for the price of a hospital wing. Nothing ever happens, nothing happens at all. The needle returns to the start of the song. And we´ll sing along like before. Nothing ever happens, nothing happens at all. They´ll burn down the synagogues at six o´clock. And we´ll all go along like before. And we´ll all be lonely tonight, and lonely tomorrow.

( Lyrics : Del Amitri, "Nothing ever happens" ).

Tonight, while land turn off the lights, lonely stars return, like every day.

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(This song is one of my "university songs" . Many times I returned alone with my mother´s car after a party along the Vallès Avnue, car glasses down and the cold wind of winter blowing over my troubled head, thinking about a girl called Elizabeth. This song remains a taste of vanishing, when I believed I was an anti-heroe, in the classic meaning of the word . The reality was always the same : nothing ever happens at all. I was stupid, because there was another girl, called Maribel. I´m sure she liked me, but she wasn´t, then, the kind of girl I liked. It was my fault. I think she loved me.)