(Difford/Tilbrook) 



She unscrews the top of a new whiskey bottle   

And shuffles about in her candle lit hovel,   

Like some kind of witch with blue fingers in mittens   

She smells like the cat and the neighbours she sickens,   

The black and white t.v. has long seen a picture   

The cross on the wall is a permanent fixture,   

The postman delivers the final reminders   

She sells off her silver and poodles in China.   

Drinks to remember, I me and myself   

And winds up the clock   

And knocks dust from the shelf   

Home is a love that I miss very much   

So the past has been bottled and labelled with love.   



During the war time an American pilot   

Made every air raid a time of excitement,   

She moved to his prairie and married the Texan   

She learnt from a distance how love was a lesson,   

He became drinker and she became mother   

She knew that one day she'd be one or the other,   

He ate himself older, drunk himself dizzy   

Proud of her features, she kept herself pretty.   



He like a cowboy died drunk in his slumber   

Out on the porch in the middle of summer,   

She crossed the ocean back home to her family   

But they had retired to roads that were sandy,   

She moved home alone without friends or relations   

Lived in a world full of age reservation,   

On moth eaten armchairs she'd say that she'd sod all   

The friends who had left her to drink from the bottle.