catherine walks to the store every sunday morning
she takes a pint of milk and a carton of ciggarettes
pays for it sleepily she's always stifling her yawning
last night was any saturday, full of dreams and bets
a flat in london and a tenner on them kissing,
london's full of fun, you've no idea what you're missing
william spends the morning reading old letters
scrawled across the page they spell out teenagers
she'd downed her drink, held his hand, and said it's for the better
his father's up at 11, tells his son to just stick to the papers
he makes a point to spend the rest of the day inside
well he never knew he was a poet 'til he had something to hide
sam's woken by her phone, buzzing in her pocket
she's twenty new texts from all her new found friends
but none from the boy who's picture stays in her locket
she stumbles in at 6 am, her mother mutters this has to end
slamming doors and tutting, being childish won't get us anywhere
here you go again, it'd stop if you only cared
