Lyrics

It could be seconds, it could be minutes Or on a good day maybe an hour After I awake all my senses start to ache... Always the same strangling shame Visited down upon my brain each morning: My soul is sick - a herring-gull in an oilslick I don't feel up to it but we're off To an old pal's wedding in the Lakes Following a flask of coffee up blustery Catbells We arrive late for the bird-of-prey display An eagle-owl swoops an inch above the ducking guests The feathered cleaver of its wing hews clouds of our breath It tears apart the abandoned body of a mouse And I feel nothing Mountains of finger food, flutes of fizz Billowing bunting... My self-loathing is A purseful of bile whose drawstrings are those cheery smiles "How have you been getting on?" Sausage rolls and vol-au-vents "What have you been up to?" Tiny cheese scones "Where are you living these days?" Yellow crumbs on silver trays Here comes the bride all dressed in white Wraith-like father at her side To the strains of "All I Have to Do is Dream" And a baby's bone-chilling scream Waddling down the aisle comes a Golden Retriever In a waistcoat and dickybow Golden rings dangling from a length of golden string And a thread of jewels swaying to and fro "I do, I do": Words like tiny fish tossed about in a swell Of fierce confetti and the echoing of pre-recorded bells You hook your arm in mine And reel me gently back towards myself... But I feel nothing The best man's speech is pretty much a bleak Ham-fisted PowerPoint-presentation On the groom's former life Of depravity and degradation The dad-dancing is in full-swing I'm at the buffet table hoovering up the last of The corned-beef pie I spot you chatting to some guy I don't know who you are Pile of sick on the bar Polyester tie Jägerbomb Flashing lights Laddered tights A nasty fight Karaoke: Is it me who butchers "My Heart Will Go On"??? Hey let me out Stop the car. I want to get out Now wait, just calm down Don't tell me to calm down Please just calm down I don't remember What we're even arguing about... But I feel - something The fog hanging over Crummock Water Is swelling with morning And curlews calling I rub the rheum from my eyes... There must be a road nearby