Produced and mixed by John Cornfield.
Recorded at Sawmills Studios, Cornwall.
lyrics
Stumbled along like a wet paper bag, a cup of tea in her hand,
A little dog which she’d drag,
“How are you?” is the most you can say,
I can’t bear to reply and waste my day,
I’m a liar and a thief, I’ll break your heart,
What I am you’ve made me, play your part,
Depression, joy and a moment of fame
That’s your world and who is it you blame?
Get me. Get me, no, get me, you don’t get me.
Get me. Get me, no, get me, you don’t get me.
You think those veggie morals of which you boast,
Make you special, regal and better than most,
And as you peacock your little self around,
Without a thought of how I’d feel about,
You, me, time...I always found time,
You want forgiveness but I cannot forget,
There’s no apology which you’ll accept.
Get me. Get me, no, get me, you don’t get me.
Get me. Get me, no, get me, you don’t get me.
And I feel that now it’s time to move along and up,
And I’m really feeling fine now you have given up.
You’re free to be alone again.
This is it, the end is close at hand,
It’s never easy not to care my friend,
I was wrong and all this has been,
Is a case of mis-identity,
You, me, time...we’ve run out of time.
When you’re old and tired and full of sleep,
Who’d you think you’ll think of as you weep?
Get me. Get me, no, get me, you don’t get me.
Get me. Get me, no, get me, you don’t get me.
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