Letra de Dead Men Don't Need Season Tickets
Telephone call Telling me My old friend Graham had died I took a ride Down to where I Could be of assistanceI said to his wife Don't give in To grieving cliche and turn His side of the room Into a shrine It just doesn't workMy arm round her shoulder Gently I told her Dead men don't need season ticketsNow that he's gone You're gonna need A helping hand with the lawn Various chores Not least of all Those funeral arrangementsIf I were you I'd get myself Away from all that relates Week in the lakes Reasonable rates Early SeptemberNow I'm no hotelier Just thought I'd tell yer Dead men don't need season ticketsMaybe I'm forward Maybe I'm morbid Dead men don't need season ticketsDead men don't need season tickets In a mortuary In the mortuary In the mortuary In the mortuary