Quiet Time

They're home again on Saturday night

In their own bubble, of their own design

The children are sleeping, while they're drinking wine

What more could they ever want?

She's going nowhere, they're going nowhere

She’s got her quiet time

The weatherboard cottage, eucalypt trees

An hour from the city, an hour from the sea

Conifer needles and claret ash leaves

And the gutters are heavy with mud

He's going nowhere, but they're going nowhere

He’s got his quiet time

They’re going nowhere,

but they’re going nowhere

They got their quiet time

They have some money that she put away

He says they’ll spend it somehow some day

She figures that’s reason enough to stay

He knows she probably won’t

They’re going nowhere, but they’re going nowhere

They’ve got their quiet time

They’re going nowhere, but they’re going nowhere

They’ve got their quiet time