The Valentine Day Massacre

The heads fell off yer flowers,
an’ I didn’t kop a feel.
Yer battered all the wine
an’ I burnt the fucking meal.

Yer chose this day to say,
that yer always hated me.
Yer could ‘ave at least waited,
‘til I’d sat down for me tea.

All me dreams are shattered,
they've gone right up the pole.
Although you say yer hate me,
can I ‘ave just one last hole?

Valentines day massacre,
me heart is smashed to bits.
Yer should ‘ave told me sooner,
I was getting on yer tits.

Tea for two

His old flask sits upon the windowsill,
like a lost dog looking for it’s owner.
Tartan skin reflected in broken glass,
painted steel glistening in the sunshine.

Foolhardy in all that you ever were,
sanctified with a gift for a poor choice.
Walking the frost laden Lockerbie hills,
your final, irreversible mistake.

So I’ll fill this withered tartan old flask,
pour us both a drink, cups of tea for two.
Toast the memories that you left behind,
scorn the choices of a life you squandered.