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On the English |
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Riviera with the penguins and the waders. |
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In a chip shop on the front with the tacky seaside traders. |
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In a flooded cottage kitchen by the fire that you built. |
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In a B & B in |
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Peebles, underneath a rented kilt. |
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In Barnardo's, |
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Cancer Research, in |
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Shelter and |
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Oxfam. In a quiet pub in |
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Skipton, on a rusty |
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Blackpool tram. |
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The Pleasure |
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Beach and |
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Coral Island, at the end of the |
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North Pier. |
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On the moors with the wild ponies and the sheep shit and the deer. |
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In a corner of the |
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Sub Club. |
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On the Art |
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School's old dance floor. |
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In the hall and in the bath, just outside the downstairs door. |
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On a hillside in the |
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Trossachs, on the busy |
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NY streets, in a hotel by a park, it's written in the sheets. |
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In the sand at |
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Ilfracombe, halfway up the |
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A82, the tallest cinema in |
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Europe, standing sighing in the queue. |
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The all-night garages of |
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Glasgow, the freezing streets of |
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Aberdeen, in every corner, every room and every bed we've ever been. |
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That's where we've left our love. |
