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There’s a passage in Mona Lisa Overdrive in which one of the main characters is trying to find a friend of hers who has disappeared. When she asks what happened to him, she’s told, “He reverted to type.” Just like that. Back to living on the street like he’d done before they’d met. That sentence stayed with me for a long time after I finished the book. Something about how world-weary and dismissive it sounded — and, of course, the whole idea that people can’t change, that our “types” are inescapable for better or for worse — made a pretty strong impression on me.

With these lyrics, I’m trying to treat the concept of “reverting to type” with importance, to observe and describe it, but without necessarily claiming to understand it — certainly not judging it as either good or bad. A neat trick, if I can manage it. Thanks for listening.

You wait until door meets door
And you’re sure that he’s gone
And then you sway and sing in the elevator
All the way down
Rushing down Sherman to MAB
Breathless on the crooked stairs
Reaching for the most familiar keys
Reverting to type again
Reverting to type again
Returning to what you were then
And every time you say
that this time you’re sure you’ve really changed
You always end up reverting to type again

He must have caught you sitting up straight
Instantly no longer bored
Trying slightly harder to concentrate
Failing at it slightly more
With no excuse to communicate
No use in being heard
We’re both still hoping
Both still reloading
Still hanging on every word
Reverting to type again
Returning to what you were then
And every time you say
that this time you’re sure you’ve really changed
You always end up reverting to type again