Story Behind The Song

Quirky track about the frustrations of constant complaints

Lyrics

Every morning starts the same way, someone shouting in the street,
Moaning 'bout the cost of living and the shoes upon their feet.
Another rant about the weather, how it's never what they want,
And the government's to blame for every drizzle, drop, and draught.

At the bus stop there's a chorus: "Why's the number seven late?"
Someone else is listing problems that they swear they just can't take.
From the queues down at the market to the traffic on the bend,
It's a never-ending cycle -- every gripe repeats again.

(Chorus)
So speak to the hand, tell someone who cares,
I've heard enough complaining floating through the morning air.
I'm done with all the moaning, all the drama everywhere --
So speak to the hand, tell someone who cares.

At the café there's a table where the grumblers like to meet,
Trading tales of minor chaos like they're tragedies complete.
One complains about the prices, one complains about the noise,
And I'm stuck there in the middle thinking, "Do you have any joys?"

(Bridge)
I'm not heartless, I'm not cold -- I just need a little peace,
'Cause the world is loud enough without the constant, endless grief.
So if you've got a silver lining, something bright you want to share,
Then pull up a chair beside me -- that's the stuff I'll gladly hear.

(Chorus)
But speak to the hand, tell someone who cares,
I've heard enough complaining floating through the morning air.
I'm done with all the moaning, all the drama everywhere --
So speak to the hand, tell someone who cares.

So if you're coming with a story full of sunshine, hope, and cheer,
I'll be first to lean in closer, I'll be glad to lend an ear.
But if it's just another rant about the world being unfair,
Save your breath for someone else -- tell someone who cares.
Someone who cares