martyn is in the morgue
it’s a long time from high tide to low tide
a long time to lay in that morgue
your blue fingers no gloves to hide
or your cadaverine pallor prorogue
how can you lie there under death’s sentry
when there is gossip enough on the shore
the place where you left your clothes is now empty
and the sand carries your footprints no more
the sea is cold i tell you absentmindedly
and the waves are higher than before
with your cravat twisted untidily for
the wind is rattling death’s door
take one look from your last lonely pew
before the light extinguishes the view
there’s a storm brewing i tell you
and there’s a tear in my eye ~ oh duw
how can we cope with this pain
when your smile is nowhere to be found
except wait until time warms the sea again
and smiles once more abound
it’s a cold sea today
we all agree
it’s bloody freezing
and we are absolutely numb
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