Hate for the Island

Recall the time we straddled your windowpane and Smoked the last of the weed that sent you insane In a public loo in a borough of London that I won't mention You phoned me in Minnesota, said you had a vital question And as we smoked, you feared you neighbours might see We watched a fox rip out the contents of each bin-bag That lined the road and then you turned to see me Mouth "Those entrails are how I'll feel when you decide to leave me" Now I've a whole lot of hate for the island Since your friends buried you down there Six feet deep beneath the sand But at least I know we'll never be that far now from each other Just a couple of hundred feet either side of sea level It's no lie if the waters rose And drowned that place from coast to coast You wouldn't see this smile leave my face for all eternity