The sofa may be stained and old
But what stories can it unfold
Sit ye down and you'll be told
It was on that sofa i met your mam
A few more kisses, and a few more drams
Through the bottom of the glass
She looked real glam
For in the morning
After the night before
To sleep on the couch
I'd always end up on the floor
The sitting room door always creaked
It was her father who always peaked
Just to be sure he knew i was there
And not slowly sneaking up the stair
So the sofa's in house's
With so many tales to be told
Are we going to divulge
And be so bold?
For there are kids called Brooklyn, India and Sahara
Kids of today, and kids of tomorrow
Children from Europe, and from Poland's Craiova
Not many kids have been called Sofa
" This just came to me after seeing the word Sofa in Doris Culverhouse's poem Stained "
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