Intro:
Someone got shot dead 'round here.
People left flowers by the Ribena stains on the pavement.
Friends, neighbours, strangers.
A million blooms, one day dusty, the next wet and ragged.
So, guess what? I took them all home with me
in a wheelbarrow and filled the bathroom from floor to ceiling, and listen,
there was no devine damnation
no cosmic retribution.
Once the petals wilted, I pressed them all flat in the largest book I've got.
On wet days, the ghost sits in the kitchen leafing through it.
He's not grey or wraith-like,
but bright and solid,
like a new bike.
Looks at the faded colours and plays the radio too loud,
and makes a damn mess of fag butts and tea leaves.
Outro: x 3