Every suntan tells stories and the shape of the white snitches
Fat men in tropical climes
Now you tell me you′ve been fucking somebody newAnd that I should've known for a while
Watching the starlings as autumn draws in
As they make ghosts across London fields
And I would′ve moved out there to be with you
I would've moved out there for real
Saw a choir of golden angels wearing matching rucksacks
As they obscured the view to your train
And I'm sorry if it seems like I′m rambling here
Just want to see the way the skin splits round his bones
And the gurgling head in your lap
And the arms of the crowd as they pull me away
And the mud and the blood in the grass
When we scraped our bones together
We got fire (fire, fire, fire)
When we scraped our bones together
We got fire (fire, fire, fire)
When we scraped our bones together
We got fire (fire, fire, fire)
When we scraped our bones together
We got fire (fire, fire, fire)
