These fourteen empty beers bottle can be my shovel
To take me down yet another level in this fantastical grovel
But I will save one from the crate for another time, when I find myself on the verge of another cry
For the train station that is my salvation, from eternal internal damnation
Because I didn't realise just how sad the Christmas lights on the trees in the Guildhall Square could make me
Because the truth is they remind me of you and that photo of you, looking as good as I remember you
Sitting there last year when you were still here, that I deleted and really wish that I hadn't
But I'm fine, anxiety forcing another lie into the line
I can still remember it, but each time I do it distorts just a little more
Till my brain has forced myself into the frame, an infected lapdog on all four paws
So as I walk towards the salvation station
I hope my eternal internal damnation stays just a little while longer
And accrues into everything that I have left of you