Stories - Pleasure, Cerys Matthews

Monday arrived exactly when she said she would

Sent a wide-eyed sun to find some signs of life inside my bed

Tuesday’s on fire

Pulled up the socks and watched the clock

and swore that she would never follow suit

I used to chase the hours,

hour upon hour

Craving merit, craving credit

wishing I was only (owning?) you

But suddenly I’m not so easily led

Let the winds blow right over your head

I’m in the mood for stories

So let the days grow old

Suddenly I’m not so easily led

Let the winds blow right over your head

I’m in the mood for stories

So let the days grow old

I’m a little English boy, Harry is my name

In cold or sunny weather my work is still the same

I’m civil and obliging to the passers-by

Who hurry to be cozy home, this is what I cry

Wednesday’s just an open book

But Thursday presses Friday

Presses Saturday’s pernicious lies

Suddenly I’m not so easily led

Let the winds blow right over your head

I’m in the mood for stories

Let the days grow old

Suddenly I’m not so easily led

Let the winds blow right over your head

I’m in the mood for stories

Let the days grow old

Let the days grow old

I’m in the mood for stories

Let the days grow old

Sunday’s child knew everything I hoped to know

Measures so unhurried

When others run about, kept moving on

Hour upon hour

Craving merit, craving credit

Wishing I was only (owning?) you

Hour upon hour

Craving merit, craving credit

Wishing I was only new (?)