Where We’ve Left Our Love

On the English

Riviera with the penguins and the waders.

In a chip shop on the front with the tacky seaside traders.

In a flooded cottage kitchen by the fire that you built.

In a B & B in

Peebles, underneath a rented kilt.

In Barnardo's,

Cancer Research, in

Shelter and

Oxfam. In a quiet pub in

Skipton, on a rusty

Blackpool tram.

The Pleasure

Beach and

Coral Island, at the end of the

North Pier.

On the moors with the wild ponies and the sheep **** and the deer.

In a corner of the

Sub Club.

On the Art

School's old dance floor.

In the hall and in the bath, just outside the downstairs door.

On a hillside in the

Trossachs, on the busy

NY streets, in a hotel by a park, it's written in the sheets.

In the sand at

Ilfracombe, halfway up the

A82, the tallest cinema in

Europe, standing sighing in the queue.

The all-night garages of

Glasgow, the freezing streets of

Aberdeen, in every corner, every room and every bed we've ever been.

That's where we've left our love.