I thought you're meant to be writing a song.
We started watching TV.
Did you drink all my gin?
Yeah, went down the cheap.
What're you watching?
Gentle Ben.
I said to Ed
I bet they haven't done anything.
No way, I said.
The only reason I'm in the pub
is because you guys kicked me out.
James...
We did it.
Did what?
Written a song.
I don't believe it.
We have.
Here's your guitar.
Here's your pick.
And here are your words and chords.
Can you play it?
It's quite easy.
I'll start singing,
and then I'll give you a special signal.
What kind of signal?
You'll know it when it happens.
Come Monday night
The day of work is done
Tuesday morning looms
The grey of ordinariness
Start by putting off your chores
And all the crushing bores
Say your morning prayers
Sing a rousing song
Then sing it on the long walk home
Come Monday night
We're in a state of grace
Twenty million boys
Are caught up in a paperchase
If the weekend promised much
Then it failed to touch
On a single count
What I was hoping for
Come Monday night
We turn the telly off
To listen to the silence
The light that comes in from outside
If you could catch it all
And pin it to your wall
Then you would sleep much better
Baby you would sleep much better
Maybe you would sleep much better
Baby you would sleep much better
Maybe you would sleep much better
Baby you would sleep much better
Maybe you would sleep much better
Baby you would sleep much better