the kettle is singing it's sad song,
the gaps in the windows are humming along,
it's an empty forgotten day,
but it's sunny outside in a shy kind of way
i'm a storm in a ripe river's mouth.
you're a crack behind my radiator shelf,
and the c.d.s are falling from my hands
as the bath overruns like all the best laid plans...
i once shed my skin for you
and held myself like a turning screw.
we're all whispers nobody's heard,
i am dancing alone to a solitary word.
where's the symptom i brought you?
why are we laid up with hearts like flu?
i only wanted peace, and a locket,
i got tractors and diggers, an infected tattoo
words of wisdom make me ashamed
to be a thing of blood and muscle, sinew and pain,
but i'd rather be in debt
to a love that is rotten, than one that is cleanly and sane
so how can i complain?
there's a clot of life in the sink,
and the bed where we lay makes a terrible stink,
i could make a vow today
to throw all vows and all heartaches away
but i wouldn't be telling true,
cause once the door is shut there's another
we always go through..
so take my riches and turn them gold,
take my splendour and make it's heart grow old,
we are shapes on the horizon in melancholy weather,
we are two imploded stars, spinning together
and as all matter disappears,
the kettle boils,
the sun is dried cold in it's own tears.