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The rainfall in Morecambe embitters me, |
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It fucks my hair and stings my cheeks, |
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But you know that I am fond of you, |
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And all the things were yet to do. |
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Procrastination, pay no heed of time, |
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Pursue romance and beak and wine, |
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But you know that they're all fond of you, |
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And all the things you claim you'll do. |
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You will meet her by the statue, |
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And you'll tell her what she wants to hear, |
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Don't you know that young hearts bruise so easily, |
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And you sound like Billy Liar, My Dear. |
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Local girl put your heart in his hands, |
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Should it fall apart understand, |
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(Hell say) You know that I am fond of you, |
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And all the things we will never do. |
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Her heart |
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Her heart |
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Her heart |
