Hugh Graeme - No Flowers on the Headstone Lyrics

Everyday it's just the same
Everyday she stares out of her window
Thinking to herself
And everytime the reflection in the pane
Runs a tear down to the cill

It's not that she don't care
That she doesn't dress
It's just that he's not there
And her life's in a mess

The bottle of vodka lying by the pantry door
Has been used so many times in the past
It seems like a permanent fixture

To dull the pain she swallows a measure
And in her armchair her thoughts start to gather

What will become of me?
She thinks to herself reflecting-ly
What will become of me?
What will become of me?

No flowers on the headstone
No mourners mourning
Just a priest in his robe