But let's talk about you for a minute
With the vomit at yr gullet
From a half bottle of vodka that we'd stolen from the optic
On the back seat in yr car, because it wasn't safe to start it
You were "far too fucked to drive", were the words that you imparted
And the woolen dress that clung so tight to the contours of your body
And the dead grass stuck to fibers from us rolling in the lay-by
Were passed to dog-haired blankets
That protected the bench seat covers
And a crucifix was hung from rear view mirror by yr mother

I'm leaving my body to science, not medical but physics
Drag my corpse through the airport and lay me limp on the left wing
Drop me at the highest point and trace a line around the dent I leave in the ground
That'll be the initial of the one you'll marry now I'm not around
I flew for seven hours, the sky didn't once go black

I wake from sleep, my head and shoulder, wet against the window
A frost had formed and melted, soaked me right through to my collarbone
If you were given the option of dying painlessly in peace at 45
But with a lover at yr side, after a full and happy life
Is this something that would interest you?
Would this interest you at all?

Writer : THOMAS BROMLEY, GARETH PAISEY
Copyright : Lyrics © NETTWERK ONE MUSIC