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• Artiste: Los Campesinos
• Titre: Hate For The Island
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Recall the time we straddled your window pane And smoked the last of the weed that sent you insane In a public loo in a borough of London that I won't mention You phoned me in Minnesota, said you had a vital question And as we smoked you feared your neighbours might see We watched a fon rip out the contents of each Bin-bag that we lined the road and then you turned to see me mouth, "Those entrails are how I'll feel when you decide to leave me" Now I've a whole lot of hate for the island Since your friends buried you down there 6 feet deep beneath the sand But at least I know we'll never be that far now from each other Just a couple hundred feet either side of sea level It's no lie that if the waters rose and drowned that place from coast to coast You wouldn't see this smile leave my face for all eternity