i was supposed to be going out
the sharp night whistled around my coat
as i motioned up to the main road
the wails of your offspring behind ya
when you plan to do something
but at that moment you realize it's not quite right
not really something you should be doing tonight
well before me a few hellos
expectant mums with blokes that i know
three-fifty all-day ticket
but i knew deep down i wasn't going to use it later
i arrange my coat on the front seat and blend it in with the low lighting
people on the way out too
everyone still looks like ena sharples and ray reardon
that '50s look can do one
elvis has definitely left the fucking building
i thought about his face when i asked if he had any rioja
don't look at me like that
like you think i'm some wine twat
eventually you get an idea
go and listen to some fucking garage punk
i felt cramped but luckily the table next to me got up and left
and apart from the eight empty pint glasses they left on the table
i thought it was the better bet
this pub did call for that kind of angle
going out is for young people
i can't sit and enjoy a drink
have you got any numbers?
the trappings of luxury can't save you from the nail-biting boredom of repetitive brain injury
the injury of your useless mind
clinging onto years of that's not yours that's mine
the tragedy of the male-less fucking man