Sunday

Saturday nights look different,

Now that you’re not around.

I tattoo myself with words and hearts

And sit in my dressing gown.

Time doesn’t go by slowly,

When you’re chained to a melody.

My kitchen lost its dancefloor

And it is more like a bed to me.

It takes a bit more,

More music than therapy.

If I’m going to recover 

Your love is dead to me.

I know the pain’s not forever,

My heart will dance again someday.

Until then I’ll sleep and I’ll wait,

For the sunrise on Sunday.