1, 2, 3, 2, 2, 3

Our and Henry immediately
The day you are dispatched
And we'll get slaughtered
Pines land up waiting
And wine is bliss
On the level and Henry will be giggling
At how there is no need

To drop glue on your cabbages
Up in the smog of North London
And you have plenty of time
To tend to your reward

Alone and hopefully weeping
When she wakes up with someone
Because of some yearning
She explains as a tsunami
Hamling in her heart
And forget about her bones
And the shape of her hips

As myself and Henry chuckle
And raise our glasses high
Poor Arthur, poor Arthur, poor Arthur

We'll keep repeating it
Wishing we could see you
Sitting with your middle water
With your head in your hands
Such a pathetic sight we reckon
Sitting in your ramshackle shed

With only the wind to remind you
Of the beautiful smell and grace
As some other punter with no face
Is the one who tortures you

Everywhere you go
Even on buses
Even in other cities
Forever, forever, forever
Forever, forever, forever