You say you want to be buried beneath the mango tree
Where every northern summer you'll come back to life
You say you want your ashes mixed up with your lover's salt
Where every Sunday night he'll eat a little more of you

You say you can't stop crying; it's just the power of the song
Riding on the midnight bus again
You say that you loved him but you were just too young
You say that's why you still wear the ring

You say a lot of things

You say that your daddy was a painter of sorts
But I never saw him paint a thing
He just kept the tins underneath his bed
And sniffed a different colour every night

And dreamed of a place up in the sky
Where everyone's a painter 'til they die

You say you don't like flying on the aeroplanes
That even the sea birds must get lonely out there
You said you were quitting after your next pack
And you said once that I was beautiful

But for all the pretty ladies in Beijing
I couldn't stop my drinking

And you say a lot of
You say a lot of
You say a lot of things

You say you can't stop dreaming about your funeral day
Where all your long-time friends will be crying for you
I'd be up the back with a rose in my hand
And I'd give to you in death what I could not in life