[Intro — spoken, dry] Saturday’s got no instructions. Good. [Verse 1] Eight-forty-something, kettle did its bit, mug on the bench — forgot where I put it. Coffee going cold while the cartoons go feral, kids still dressed like a doona with legs in it. One sock each, no obvious reason, crumbs on the couch like a breadcrumb season. Dog at the flyscreen, nose doing Morse, front paws tapping out, “Open the doors.” Sun through the slats laying gold on the tiles, no one needs shoes, no one’s checking the time. Phone face-down, calendar losing its rank, first good decision of the day— [Hook] Leave it blank, leave it blank, no little boxes, no need to cram. Sun in the yard, feet in the grass, best thing we planned was leaving it blank. Leave it blank, leave it blank, world can knock but it won’t get answered back. Nothing to prove, nowhere to dash, best thing we planned was leaving it blank. [Verse 2] Screen-door clack and the dog takes flight, kids hit the concrete, chalk gripped tight. One draws a rocket, one draws me bald, I dispute the detail — get overruled by all. Handball court made from a crack and a line, rules get rewritten about every third time. “Double bounce!” “No!” “You touched the chair!” Court of appeal says nobody cares. Neighbour’s mower coughs, then catches and roars, Saturday soundtrack from three houses north. Washing on the Hills Hoist, half of it dry, magpie conducting from the powerline. Wheely bin leaning with a permanent slant, back fence warm and the basil needs a chance. No grand adventure, no coastal escape, just a hose in the sun making rainbows by mistake. Little feet slap, dog shakes, everybody gets damp, whole backyard humming to— [Hook] Leave it blank, leave it blank, no little boxes, no need to cram. Sun in the yard, feet in the grass, best thing we planned was leaving it blank. Leave it blank, leave it blank, world can knock but it won’t get answered back. Nothing to prove, nowhere to dash, best thing we planned was leaving it blank. [Post-Hook — call and response] What are we doing? This. Where are we going? Nowhere. What time? Doesn’t matter. Perfect. [Verse 3 — tighter pocket] See, I used to wake with a list in my chest, turn a day off into a practical test. Mow that, fix this, reply, reset, make rest earn interest before I accept. Every spare minute got measured and managed, packed into progress, productive and frantic. Even peace had a target, a time and a task, couldn’t sit in the sun without feeling I’d slacked. Inbox twitching like it wanted a fight, brain building Monday on a Saturday light. One eye on the kids, one thumb on the screen, physically present but somewhere between. But they won’t remember the jobs that got done, they remember Dad missed when they yelled, “Watch this one!” The crooked cartwheel, the ball in the tree, the serious meeting where the ants get tea. So I’m learning the luxury isn’t the break, it’s not needing a reason for one that I take. No guilt in the quiet, no debt in the calm, no medal for running when nothing is wrong. [Bridge — melodic, warm] Let the coffee go cold. Let the clock lose count. Let the day be small and still be enough. We don’t need a memory dressed up for the ’gram. Sometimes the good life looks like no plan. [Verse 4 — open, reflective rise] By two, there’s chalk dust tracked through the hall, three wet towels and a half-flat ball. Lunch was whatever could fit on a plate, nobody complained, so we’re calling it great. A breeze moves slow through the open screen, house not spotless, mind finally clean. Lisa finds shade with a book in her lap, kids build a kingdom from pegs and scrap. I’ve spent years thinking momentum meant worth, like stillness was laziness wearing a shirt. But maybe a man isn’t less when he stops, maybe love doesn’t live at the end of the jobs. Maybe being right here, fully in frame, is more than another achievement to name. Beautiful day and we didn’t outrun it, didn’t try owning it — just let it come in. [Final Hook — bigger, layered] Leave it blank, leave it blank, no little boxes, no need to cram. Sun in the yard, feet in the grass, best thing we planned was leaving it blank. Leave it blank, leave it blank, tomorrow can carry tomorrow’s demands. Nothing to prove, nowhere to dash, best thing we planned was leaving it blank. [Final Refrain] No booking. No rushing. No “should’ve done that.” Just us in the middle of leaving it blank. [Outro — spoken] Saturday had no instructions. We followed them exactly.
