Along to the bus-stop,
and on to the weekend I go over.
Kitchen full of dishes,
rooms full of spilt drinks,
on the roof her lost dress.
There’ll be something to talk about
when she’s sober,
says she won’t do it again,
uses the same words as last time.
And who’s going to love you through the winter,
buy you things from the charity shop,
have you back when you’ve been unfaithful?
Paddy Summerfield: WRITINGS 