| I awoke all hung withdrawn and sordid
|
| If eyes are windows on the soul
|
| Then mine were locked and boarded
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| My body; |
| numb, in pain from the neck up
|
| Which seemed more suited
|
| To a prisoner or a shallow dive
|
| That’s poorly executed
|
| Where had all my money gone?
|
| A damp receipt alluded
|
| To a tab and taxi flag-fare
|
| That my bank-card had saluted
|
| And I couldn’t tell you how
|
| I made it home before the sun
|
| Or pick the barman from a police line-up of one
|
| I’m in the dark with a shot in the arm
|
| Falling glass and a rising alarm
|
| I’m in the dark with a shot in the arm
|
| I’ve tried to trace my tracks
|
| From their beginning to conclusion
|
| But there’s not a lot that
|
| Hasn’t just been lost in the confusion
|
| To that guilt-induced amnesia
|
| All my memories succumb
|
| Bar your beauty, your kindness and the stupid things I’ve done
|
| In the dark with a shot in the arm
|
| Falling glass and a rising alarm
|
| I’m in the dark with a shot in the arm
|
| Shook off that cold somehow
|
| I can wear short sleeves now
|
| It’s ice behind my brow
|
| The inner-north sea is staying calm
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| It’s my past that’ll do you harm |