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Sunday

de Admiral Fallow

You sleep like a kid with one hand
stuck fast to the side of your face.
Backside in the air, mouth half open,
but still filled with grace.

And you seem so happy as your skin
turns the colour of a violet-golden sky.
And it cuts me up when we fight
and go to bed facing opposite sides.

You're like gasoline.
You're like the willow tree.
You're like a split-screen.
But you're the green in me.

And you smoke when you're hurt or bored
or out with friends, but I don't mind.
Who cares if the big 'C' comes? We're young,
we're having some lovely times.

You frown as the clouds bring you down,
drop to your knees and scream "Oh, my God".
But you really shouldn't bother,
there's bigger things going on
you little sod, you little sod

You're like gasoline.
You're like the willow tree.
You're like a split-screen.
But you're the green in me.

You're like gasoline.
You're like the willow tree.
You're like a split-screen.
But you're the green in me.

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