(Kelly/Mann) I can barely keep a grip on the pen I hold Better get a grip on myself I'm told I've grown bitterly, shameslessly, Indescribably cold I dove well into my cups And wrote you a note full of Wonderful smut The things I'll do to you for us will be Heavenly, Angel, Heavenly, Angel, Heavenly, Angel The A to Z sits like the bible on the dash Of our van that must've once carried bread Oh, my splitting head In Cockermouth we heard the sound of one hand clapping The other twenty-three were busy Drinking and smoking away Great clouds of grey Heavenly, Angel, Heavenly, Angel, Heavenly, Angel Well I miss you Everytime I try and call We're off to Carlisle To steal a piece of Hadrian's Wall From the Solway Firth Stretching out to the North Sea I miss you My phone card says that's all from my Heavenly, Angel, Heavenly, Anjil