Flavour of the week, fresh of the streets I was begging.
Big city boy with lots of toys, you were learning.
But I closed my eyes tight, you dug a little deeper.
You held me through the night, I know I was digging my grave.
So we packed up and moved to London town.
Met lots of people, I started roaming around.
But you were so driven, and I so passive.
I knew in that moment, that I was digging my grave.
Five years had past, and we woke up one morning.
You threw a chair and I smashed a glass with no warning.
I said pass me my shovel and pick,
your look of concern when I said look at this ditch.
You know I've been digging my grave.
Five months have passed and I think I've finally sobered.
I'm down in this dirt and I look up at last.
But theres no rope nor shovel to pull me up.
Bath my skin and wash my hair, so now I live here love.
You know, I live in my grave.