Harlow

Since you've been away, i don't know what to do, but each night pray, brokenn the sacred mould, say its finished for you, need to leave this home, watch ships in the Bay, funells blow what's new, no more bailing hay, when you had to go, forever bent the rules, it's better on your own, your hair is now grey, sup your bowls of gruel, you've eaten all your cake, confined within your bones, what is there of truth, nothing but fine margins, sing your lonesome blues.