Every suntan tells stories and the shape of the white snitches

Fat men in tropical climes

Now you tell me you′ve been fucking somebody newAnd that I should've known for a while

Watching the starlings as autumn draws in

As they make ghosts across London fields

And I would′ve moved out there to be with you

I would've moved out there for real

Saw a choir of golden angels wearing matching rucksacks

As they obscured the view to your train

And I'm sorry if it seems like I′m rambling here

Just want to see the way the skin splits round his bones

And the gurgling head in your lap

And the arms of the crowd as they pull me away

And the mud and the blood in the grass

When we scraped our bones together

We got fire (fire, fire, fire)

When we scraped our bones together

We got fire (fire, fire, fire)

When we scraped our bones together

We got fire (fire, fire, fire)

When we scraped our bones together

We got fire (fire, fire, fire)