i don't wanna waaaaste my tiiiiiime

sunday morning here. greetings mes amis. am currently at danielle's: eating her food, watching her tv, using her internet etc. and also escaping all the homework that i should have done several weeks ago. so. the english trip was fantabulous. plenty of sunshine, tractors and graveyards. the only bastard part to the trip was the journey home:
1) continuous infuriating presence of year nines singing their "hilarious" song with the lyrics "wanker wanker wanker wanker wanker wanker" etc.
2) lack of food until we stopped off at a service station in maidenstone (or whatever it's called) and paid extortionate prices for wimpy rankitude. lovely.
3) waiting for a whole hour at ingatestone train station because the lousy train service only runs once an hour.
4) the 12 drunken chavs at the station who proceeded to try and kick in the ticket machines and throw empty vodka bottles into the train track. damn them all.

ingatestone is completely dead at night. THERE IS NOTHING. not even street lights. how do people live there? HOW?

yeah. so. i am becoming lazier and lazier. yesterday i slept all day and didn't start getting dressed until 6pm. then i went on msn. then i bought a kebab. then i went round to danielle's and watched kill bill. i really need to stop scrounging off people. sorry about that becky/danielle etc. i don't mean it. but my house is currently a shithole, and we have no tv, food, money or internet access...

really should doooo something. something crazy and exciting.
farewell everyone
x

Sunday Morning Coming Down

Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.

I'd smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and songs I'd been picking.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Playing with a can that he was kicking.
Then I walked across the street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken.
And Lord, it took me back to something that I'd lost
Somewhere, somehow along the way.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.

In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl that he was swinging.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the songs they were singing.
Then I headed down the street,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing,
And it echoed through the canyon
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.

p.s. note the fantastic rhyme of 'chicken' with 'kicking'. almost beats man/clam...
p.p.s. s'a neat little strokes lyric in the title there...