This is for a friend of mine
And he speaks to me, and I always listen
And he makes me breathe
And I need to do that.
He is always twenty-three
And he sings to me
Of the centre of the city in the night
I will not walk away in silence, my friend
I'll never walk away
Because your words, they make me weep
And your voice, it makes me twitch
And everybody is so trivial
When you are not around
But you are always around
In this colony
I don't know if you'll ever know
What we have shared
Goethe, rather than goth
And a touch of avant-garde romance
I'm ashamed of the person I am
Until I hear your voice
And, do you know, Ian,
You put a rope around your neck
And you bloody died
Seven years before I was even born
You bloody died
And I don't mind

Because you're always here.

I put my trust in you
And I never regret it.