| It seems
|
| To me
|
| That you can’t sleep
|
| By hook or by crooked look give me land
|
| One fist holds a lighter the other your hand
|
| The oh’s of your screams still echo in your dreams
|
| I’ll point you steer and we’ll rip up the map by the seams
|
| It seems oh it seems
|
| To me
|
| That you
|
| You can’t sleep
|
| Grab the stroud and we’ll roar to the clouds come and get us
|
| And the wind picks up up up and I’ll never let you
|
| Down it’s time to fight don’t be yellow bellied
|
| Hold the bar at Hurley’s hurly burly’s give 'em hell give 'em hell
|
| But I held your hand
|
| As you shook in the middle of the night
|
| Without waking you said
|
| Not yet not yet
|
| Not yet not yet
|
| Not yet not
|
| Sing me awake with a song about pirates
|
| And I will try to harmonise
|
| And sip the sunlight from your eyes
|
| Oh sing me awake
|
| With all the things we’ll do today
|
| But instead we’ll build a den
|
| Out of pillows and get drunk again
|
| Cos everyone know how sex is better when you’re
|
| Unemployed
|
| It seems oh it seems
|
| To me
|
| That you
|
| You can’t dance
|
| For shit
|
| Where is god ma
|
| Where’s the vodka
|
| If my old mum could see me now
|
| Oh how she’d howl she’d howl
|
| Hold my hand
|
| As you shook in the middle of the night
|
| Without waking you said
|
| Not yet not yet
|
| Not yet not yet
|
| Not yet not yet
|
| Not yet not yet
|
| Not yet not yet
|
| Not yet not yet not yet not
|
| Sing me awake with a song about pirates
|
| And I will try to harmonise
|
| And sip the sunlight from your eyes
|
| Oh sing me awake
|
| With all the things we’ll do today
|
| But instead we’ll build a den
|
| Out of pillows and get drunk again
|
| Cos everyone know how sex is better when you’re
|
| Unemployed
|
| I cannot find the words to keep you
|
| It cannot be a lie if no one hears
|
| Let the seabirds
|
| Don’t turn 'round
|
| He says
|
| Love Run
|
| O let the world come at you, love
|
| Like distant toms a-drumming
|
| Love, run! |
| The song you know’s begun
|
| O let the earth a-tumble, love
|
| And humble you withal
|
| Keep running. |
| It’s up to you now
|
| Up to you now love to
|
| (Love) Run, love run
|
| For all the things you’ve done
|
| Run for all the things that drum
|
| Run for all those pages thumbed
|
| Love run, love run
|
| For all the things we wished we’d done
|
| Run from all you know that’s coming
|
| Run to show that love’s worth running to
|
| Let foul men band and heed your hum
|
| For that ancient hymn you heard me strumming?
|
| Is nought but fumble-falls and guns
|
| And tumbleweeds. |
| Love, run!
|
| It’s nought that rum won’t solve
|
| Though some would harm you, none — not one — no none
|
| Would raise to you a hand nor thumb
|
| Not while by you I stand and hum
|
| Love run, love run
|
| For all the things you’ve done
|
| Run for all the things that drum
|
| Run for all those pages thumbed
|
| Love run, love run
|
| For all the things we wished we’d done
|
| Run from all you know that’s coming
|
| Run to show that love’s worth running to
|
| All that matters
|
| Is that you’re here
|
| All that matters
|
| O let the land come at you, love
|
| With all it’s sand and sin, a-singing
|
| A song you once knew well’s begun
|
| Run until your lungs are numb
|
| Now let the earth a-tumble, love
|
| And humble you withal, keep running
|
| It’s not from what we run that drums
|
| But what’s to come, what’s to come |