(Kelly/Mann)
I can barely keep a grip on the pen I hold
Better get a grip on myself I'm told
I've grown bitterly, shameslessly,
indescribably cold
I dove well into my cups
And wrote you a note full of
wonderful smut
The things I'll do to you for us will be
Heavenly, Angel, Heavenly, Angel, Heavenly, Angel
The A to Z sits like the bible on the dash
Of our van that must've once carried bread
Oh, my splitting head
In co*kermouth we heard the sound of one hand clapping
The other twenty-three were busy
drinking and smoking away
Great clouds of grey
Heavenly, Angel, Heavenly, Angel, Heavenly, Angel
Well I miss you
Everytime I try and call
We're off to Carlisle
To steal a piece of Hadrian's Wall
From the Solway Firth
Stretching out to the North Sea
I miss you
My phone card says that's all from my
Heavenly, Angel, Heavenly, Anjil