It's boxing night,
(And) I'll celebrate in style
In boxer shorts and spirits, floor littered
With ghosts of bottles past
There's a naked hush
Clawed only in breath and of pulse
Of our heart that is kicking
As though it is desperate to be born
And I'm in hostage blind
Deaf to the dim outside
Good Glasgow could burn to it's timber * tonight
And I'd barely blink and I
Well the clock just stopped
You can cut that on my fucking headstone *
Won't something move so I stop
Staring a hole into the phone
You can get me at home
With a drink to ill health
Just me and these walls
And a beaten up chair
On boxing day
This is boxing night
And someone lost an eye
Well I swear I've lost the last drop
Of whatever kept me awake alive
And I fell in the forth
From a heavy right hook
To our blushed and swollen face
And in a single blow it's murdered
And then it takes years to waste away
And I can't call you all mine anymore
And I can't call you full stop
But you know you can call me up anytime
Call me whatever the fuck you want
You can get me at home
With a drink to ill health
Just me and these walls
And a beaten up chair
You can get me at home
With a drink to ill health
Just me and these walls
And my beaten up chair
On boxing day