He got her drunk very quickly   Holding hands, they found the broom-cupboard   Where he had control as far as the fall   When his hand covered wet hair   She took over among furniture wax   Dust, and the cloying yellow of polishing-cloth   When he was sick, she comforted him      Oh hush, my friend, and sleep   And cuddle to the wind   Sleep on through the waves   That may wet your lover's dream      We have been far through this night long hours   We will go far, tomorrow, out of sight, ooh...      He couldn't do it properly   The disco, the office, the pub,   Had left out those details of delight.   Satisfied, he would collapse out,   Puzzled at why she still squirmed,   Held onto him, tears curling into her mouth   This was something their stories always omitted   That her joy would seem like pain   When he focused after his release.      Do sand and shells and stones   Peep in through your night?   But you should not be hurt   For all will pass with time.      We have been far through this night long hours   We will go far, tomorrow, out of sight, ooh...      In the third week of the relationship   She was tripping on organic acid   Would stop to pick up a rained-out leaf   Would give it tenderly into his hand   Full of dead things before they reached the car      When they drove she sat with mouth open   As though photographed on the impact of a stomach punch   Her right fist gripping the skin of his left leg      Hooking the steering-wheel closer to his heart   He feared her, and slapped out sideways into her face   She entered the cut with her tongue   Gurgling gratitude for the strange taste      Do you fear the dark?   Then hush, and realise   That though the angels never come   Prayers can soothe your mind      We have been far through this night long hour   We will go far, tomorrow, out of sight, ooh...      There was no premonition of the wet Hog's Back   The sportscar slumped, snout into a beech   Their corpses giving the vehicle arms   Petrol and blood at last dripping together   But quick flashes of a planned lunch   Cold red beef, white cloth by a cherrywood fire   Game pie, and for him two pints of colder beer   The winter air tucking under their eyelids   As they spun on the gravel at Clandon   Their hands steaming from quick moisture   The aromatic finger drawn up to his nostril   Dazed after mutual masturbation   They zigzagged into a conservative end      Oh hush, my friend, asleep