Studio Time

Friday afternoon in the studio
Waiting until its time to go
For the bar to open and the wine to flow
The desire to work has hit a plateau
Bronwyn’s being serenaded with Beatles karaoke
Theo’s singing sounds like a demented banshee
Christina’s cracking jokes, Marais is cracking up
There’s not a single, goddamned, clean coffee cup
Someone tore the fridge door off its hinges
Which upon our wellbeing heavily impinges
There’s no hot water, the coffee machine’s broke
To top it off I’ve run out of smokes
The toilet seat in the ladies
Has been broken once again in two
Ah, fuck it – tomorrow I’m going on leave
It’s as though I’m likely to grieve
To escape the chaos and dip my toes
On a beach somewhere that nobody knows
I’ll see you guys in a week or two
Bet you wish you were wearing my shoes

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