She's given it some thought And it's giving her some grief Could it be she's bored beyond belief? By the time she says goodbye She's looking somewhere else Stifling a sigh and gritting teeth At the open door she pauses It's grey and wet and warm Before the pending storm Every now and then she misses horses We're too young for regrets This is the closest that she gets So I sleep in with the cynics While she pushes from her mind The twenty-seven minutes of the Sandringham line The suburbs sliding past Stretching to the sea Her fingers brush the glass unconsciously At the open door she pauses It's grey and wet and warm Before the pending storm Every now and then she misses horses We're too young for regrets Surely we're too young for regrets I sat backwards on the train And suddenly the city was further and further in front of me