I've got green stained knees 
they remind me of you.
its the color of what once was your room
that you always said you hated,
yet you never bothered to paint it.
where we stayed up till 4 am
dreaming of our future flat.
visions of blue walls
and pictures of waterfalls
because you were in to that sort of thing.
Now I'm laying in the summer grass
as God’s tears come trickling down,
storm...

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Back in those days

you could smoke in the pubs,

we’d suck on those sticks to our finger tips

then casually, carelessly drop the stubs

and twist them into the floor with our feet,

openly, brazenly, never discreet.

The stench of burning carpet, the smell of spilt ale

would meet in a plume of noxious gas,

fetid, fusty and stale;

like a fart in a working man’s café.

A flo...

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