It's Christmas Eve

Nobody going home Christmas Eve will spare her a word
She's singing for money, she sings sweet as a bird
The songs that she sings are of loves lost and dreams that have drowned
I toss her a fistful of coins but I keep my head down

It's snowing on Christmas Eve but still the stars manage to shine
She's thinking she's lucky to be here as she stares at the sky
The tears on her face make her cheek cold as she wipes her eyes
She looks through our window where it's just you and me and red wine

You and me we finish our wine try'n set fire to our tree
We give out receipts with our presents to return in January
Then we lie on the floor, entwined in red wine and unspoken misery
It's Christmas Eve

She wanders along to a park bench where she brushes off the frost
Lays herself down in the darkness and takes her clothes off
She dreams of the children she'd borne but'd been unfit to raise
'Til her dreams freeze over like her body in her park-bench-grave

Just Another Bone

You've got a secret
Don't tell it, just keep it
It's just another bone in the skeleton
You keep locked in your closet

You made some promises
To someone you can't keep
A promise like a heart can be ripped apart
But neither mend easy

And some promises you just can't break
Some take an earthquake
But ain't no earthquake in this world can match a red-headed girl
For devestation and heart-break

But with the walls broken down makes for an easy escape
And with this packet of tobacco I will be on my way
I've got a loose-fitting belt with all the notches on display
I've found some eggs to round-up and some more hens to lay
I've got lyrics that need writing and a guitar to play
I've got some sunshine to find and my own hearts to break
I've got a suitcase, some dreams and a weather-beaten face
That keeps the whores givin' me discount and the pimps out of my way
I've got a bottle in my pocket I can finish, smash, replace
And I can drink until the morning from the morning everyday
I got a coat that smells like sleeping rough that I've had for a decade
And when I speak it reeks of week-old spit at the bottom of an ashtray
But I'll be okay...

No...

I'll be great.