There's a saying that hangs in my family's hall
which they found in an airport gift shop
No deberiamos perder el tiempo
And on Sunday I idly looked up
the words on an otherwise inactive weekend
And if only I'd had it translated before
And I've never been one for regretting
But when I'm back home well the words
trace my steps round the kitchen
There's a sketch on my pad like a drunk
spider's web or a family tree with its branches
Where the multiple marriages break up the flow
And the plans and the deadlines are scattered
around like litter collects on the high road
And the more you collect it continues to spread
And the blueprints I pinned to the fridge
Are lost behind photos and letters and flyers for gigs
With the love I bestowed on the plans
Forgot all the steps that would bring it to life
I'll plan to perfection and skip all the actions that count
There's a window at thirty degrees to the floor
in the roof of an attic conversion
It rattles in winter and creaks in the spring
And in autumn the sunshine reflects off a mirror
and spotlights the frame of a photo
But the photo's been swapped for a checklist and boxes
On the left there's a clock with the date
On the right there's a pile of distractions to tempt me away
And I've never been one to look back
But there's always an anecdote even when something falls flat
With the love I bestowed on the plans
Forgot all the steps that would bring it to life
I'll plan to perfection and skip all the actions that count
And as winter transcends into spring
The light wakes me earlier every morning
And waking up early at weekends is probably
the start of something