She unscrews the top off her new whisky bottle
She hobbles about in her candlelit hovel
Like some kind of witch, with blue fingers in mittens
She smells like a cat, and the nieghbours she sickens
Her black and white TV has long seen a picture
The cross on the wall is a permanent fixture
The postman delivers, the final reminders
She sells off her silver, and poodles in china
Drinks to remember I, me and myself
Winds up the clock, and knocks dust from the shelf
Home is a love that I miss very much
So the past has been bottled, and labeled with love
During the wartime an American pilot
Made every air-raid a time of excitement
She moved to his prairie and married the texan
She'd learn from a distance how love was a lesson
He became drinker and she became mother
She knew that one day she'd be one or the other
He ate himself old and drank himself dizzy
Proud of her features, she kept herself pretty
Drinks to remember I, me and myself
Winds up the clock, and knocks dust from the shelf
Home is a love that I miss very much
So the past has been bottled, and labelled with love
He like a cowboy died drunk in a slumber
Out on the porch in the middle of summer
She crossed the ocean back home to her family
But they had retired to roads that are sandy
She moved home alone without friends or relations
Lived in a world full of age reservations
Her moth eaten armchair, she'd say that she's sod all
Friends who have left her, to drink from the bottle
Drinks to remember I, me and myself
Winds up the clock, and knocks dust from the shelf
Home is a love that I miss very much
So the past has been bottled, and labelled with love
So the past has been bottled, and labelled with love
The past --- has been bottled, -- and la--be --lled with --- love