Jesus. Had nothing to do with this really.
Even less than some would like to think.
Up around the third floor back.
And back up in the f****** ink.
The pulse goes slow, the lights glow lower
And I stagger in the stairwell stinking
Coffin style and styling
No man is an island? Like hell, I was thinking.
The stairs, the chairs, the tables and the food
I am deeply ashamed of it all
It's picture postcard perfect
And it cloys just like castor oil
Jesus. Had nothing to do with this really.
Even more than some would like to think.
Up around my third floor flat.
And crooked back into the ink.
Even less than some would like to think.
Up around the third floor back.
And back up in the f****** ink.
The pulse goes slow, the lights glow lower
And I stagger in the stairwell stinking
Coffin style and styling
No man is an island? Like hell, I was thinking.
The stairs, the chairs, the tables and the food
I am deeply ashamed of it all
It's picture postcard perfect
And it cloys just like castor oil
Jesus. Had nothing to do with this really.
Even more than some would like to think.
Up around my third floor flat.
And crooked back into the ink.