| Baby, can you believe
|
| After everything has been done and said
|
| In fifteen minutes we’ll be sleeping in our own bed?
|
| Count every second of the weekend
|
| And we won’t last a day
|
| Paint watercolours by the window
|
| And you won’t feel ashamed
|
| For a future built on a sloping past
|
| A desperate question you oughtn’t ask
|
| I know that it’s hopeless, I know that it’s ruined
|
| I know that my job now is to see you through it
|
| But how?
|
| Say that you wouldn’t like the football
|
| But I think that you would
|
| I could never make you happy
|
| Like a Dyson Airblade could
|
| From our restless legs we’ll never sleep
|
| A plastic mould of my tiny teeth
|
| You’re tired and shaking
|
| Don’t think you can do it
|
| I know that my job now is to see you through it
|
| But how?
|
| And what point do I hold my hands up
|
| Is it now?
|
| And say in all the time you pestered and harangued
|
| I never even began to draft an answer
|
| In the over-literal song that you won’t send
|
| In the patronising touch of a bad boyfriend
|
| And we know wherever we wake up
|
| The sun or the moon will be waiting for us
|
| Both if we’re lucky
|
| Like skimming stones
|
| Not floating but bouncing
|
| Hoping against hope
|
| The lights on the Megabus are headache-inducing
|
| You are turned away
|
| You are contemplating
|
| The damage I’ve done
|
| The damage you’ve done too
|
| 'sorry' is a word we are working up to
|
| Baby, can you believe
|
| After everything has been done and said
|
| In fifteen minutes we’ll be sleeping in our own bed? |