You say you are an old ca**ette that has gone and spilt its spool
you're far more like a wet cardboard tube on this nightclub toilet floor.
As I describe my lonely, you listen very clear:
the last set of goalposts taken down, summer of odd numbered year.
She says "if you're unhappy, then you gotta find the cure"
Well I prescribe me one more beer, beyond that I am unsure
May not be be all and end all, in my defence she is the whole
I've thrown my goalkeeper forward, she's catenaccio
Flotsam, Jetsam and Spindrift: all the girls I have loved,
dumped to earth by a spendthrift, gilt angels from above.
And I saw God in the bathroom, I baptised him in sick
embraced him around his cistern "c'est la mort!, enough of this".
Knees knocking and
Blood flowing so
I want you to know that I want to.
And later she said something that stuck hard in my mind:
"we are their Capel Celyn, they gotta keep their slippers dry,
to empathise with Tory's to invite upon disease,
a safer bet's to pack your bags, go holiday in Eyam"
I will take you where the sun shines, cast shadows on your face,
crawl into their deepest recess, 'til I freeze or dehydrate
We'll live and breathe it in real time, montage is for the dead
and my heart's still doing Fosburys nowhere near finished yet