Wednesday, 3 February 2010


It’ll not be the same next time,
He won’t settle for a lime,
When he wants a lemon
To sour up the sweet in his life.
Things will be different next week,
He wont slam the door and hear a pathetic creak,
There won’t be no white bread
When he wants brown,
He wants to turn this shit around.
Maybe she’ll call tomorrow,
She’ll sound keen and sweet not cold and hollow,
He won’t take bullshit when he turns up late,
She won’t do that annoying squeak she makes.
The boys might come round tonight,
He might go into town without starting a fight,
Because he’s only 19 and he’s got a lot to give
And he’s realised now that he’s got a life to live.

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