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

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