There was lying at the table
Crying on the stairs
A raven on the gable singing
‘Jesus doesn’t care’
A woman at the window
With her hands on her hips
Staring out across the ocean
Like the prow of a ship
No blinking or emotion
Like the prow of a ship
Just endeavour and devotion

Like the prow of a ship,
Rest in your bed
McGreggor’s dead

The kids were in the kitchen
Carving up the will
When the long line of limousines
Snaked down the hill

THe vicar waiting
And shaking hands with the prodigal
And pompous who knew the man
Father figures and motherfuckers
Who knew the man

God’s doorman at the party
As if God knew the man
Rest in your bed
McGreggor’s dead

Recall his lies
Pick up the pen
Record his reign
For the bitch that bore him
Is in heat again