My drinking friends have disappeared I'm stuck alone with the sprits that sweeten the mind and fog things I want to remember for better or worse over time I know I can't be like this for the rest of my life but I met some living dead on the way out they said stay for a while...A swinging fistful of how we use to be a life we had before we had to leave and a roommate complains when dead pets start to stink back to leads...Mad is the son of the poor worker who always blamed his tools bomb at his chest he said its a a good day to burry your bad news I wonder if they'll blame the fire or the fuse he thought it would help others like him he was wrong...I argue with my dad he's got a cigarette burn on his wrist he says its nothin just reminds him of his past and I wouldn't understand but son remember this angry brits nay hippie brits are usually better with their bands.