It's boxing night
I celebrate in style
with boxer shorts and spirits
floor litteed with ghosts of bottles passed
There's a naked hush
clothed only with breath and a pulse
of a heart that is kicking
as though it is desperate to be born
and I'm hostage blind
deaf to the din outside
Good Glasgow could burn to it's bones (timber?) tonight
and I'd barely blink an eye
well the clock just stopped
put that on my fucking headstone (you can cut that into my headstone)
won't something move so I stop
staring a hole into the phone
you can get me at home
I'll be drinking to death
just me and these walls
and a beaten up chair
on boxing day
(G)
and someone lost an eye
well I swear I've lost the last drop
of whatever kept me awake, alive
we fell in the Forth from a heavy right hook
to a blushed and swollen face
and in a single blow it's murdered
and now it takes years to waste away
well I can't call you all night any more
I can't call you full stop
though you know you can call me up any time
call me whatever the fuck you want
you can get me at home
I'll be drinking to death
just me and these walls
and a beaten up chair
you can get me at home
I'll be drinking to death
just me and these walls
and my beaten up chair
on boxing day