Newspaper Sunday,
Another day gone.
Clawing the clockface, for just one more rave.
Hiding from sunrise, I've seen it before.
Cold and empty. Weekend comes round.
Craving beige in an candle of colours,
Holding out for an impromptu paint spill.
Beige has never seemed so intense.
When the world is beige, so bright I'm blind.
I'll shut my eyes and hide in the dark,
My different beige will light up the spark.