We were at the pub, we were throwing down the ciders. You were only nineteen, I was just a couple months older. Then I walked you home to the unit where your Mum lives and I’ll go on my own to my friend’s for a cleanser. I leave my clothes on, as I fell asleep on my mate’s settee. Things were so easy. Don’t you wish they were not you’re passed twenty? How things have steadied. You’re at the coffee shop, a fifty hour week every fucking week. We don’t see each other much as we race towards thirty. Between the rent and the phone we’re lucky if there’s anything left at all come Sunday night. Would it be alright if I raincheck this week? I’ve got other plans. If there’s blame to be had, pour it on me.
Гуру Песен