His lungs are machines
His hands are a fridge
You fuckwits don’t
Deserve the privilege
Of sitting in the afternoon
Sun while it sets
Enjoying every second
Of your cigarettes
– Youth Group
They said
You bury
The dead
What’s buried?
Rosie said
It’s something you do
When people are dead
The body just laid there cold as a stone
I stared at the floor to pretend I’m alone
She’s explaining to the children I barely know
How a body can lay there without it’s soul
I wonder where I can buy funeral clothes
As I sit on a train and cry on my own
I don’t believe in heaven so there’s no place to go
So the body will lay there without it’s soul
Funeral clothes are black
Should I buy expensive ones
How sad that when I wear them
Or even think of them
It will be bad news
And where do you buy them?
For you know who you are
I should just ask you to marry me
There’s no one I’d rather be married with
Am I wasiting time by waiting
I’m running the risk of letting you slip
We agree on just about everything
If only to disagree about everything
Even your friends can see…
That I should just ask you to marry me
There’s no one I’d rather be living with
There’s nothing more I’m looking for
That you don’t already come packaged with
We agree on just about everything
If only to disagree about everything
Even your ma can see
That I should stop second guessing
And just pop the question
I should just ask you to marry me
There’s no one I’d rather be kissing with
My head’s so high my feet are in the sky
I hope someone up here’s selling rings
We agree on just about everything
If only to disagree about everything
Baby let’s agree on one more thing
That it’s crazy
To be alone
When I know
Yeah I know.
Nothing’s gonna happen but…
Why do you say that?
Oh, well, you know it’s not that…
Why would you even say that?
Well I’m not counting it out…
Yes you are!
No, I meant despite what happens…
Just don’t say that dude
…or maybe regardless of what happens
OK
It’s just nice to talk to her.
Just don’t say that.
How are you?
I’ve got nothing
It’s just the same
Plodding along
The last two years
Is a page of a letter
Talking mainly about the last month
Maybe I’m too old
For big changes to occur
I’m smoothing out
Plateau-ing, surviving
Same old, same old
Maybe a lie
Will console your curiosity
And you’ll leave me alone
Cos I’ve got nothing