We’re burning down the photographs
And the smoke saturates the flat
But even though our throats are getting tight
Then we keep burning down the photographs

We’re burning down the photographs
And the flames saturate the flat
And even though the blinds are set on fire
Then we keep burning down the photographs

Every monday morning I give up
To those sticky clothes that smell of stale alcohol
But people on the street
They look like they just don’t care
Cos themselves are hanging over from the sober week

Every monday morning I give up
To that mirror that says I’m almost bald
My highest amusement is watching cars smashin’ up
And I acclimatize myself, oh, to the sober week