(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 Cockermouth 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