parliament is closing, and all of bermondsey's asleep.
the street light warps the water, rising fast and dark and deep.
was your work of art so heavy that it will not let you live?
you'll be missed.
soon there'll be flowers in the river, tears being shed.
you'll be missed, you'll be missed.
see, life has blessed you with a gift, boy, that you've gone and thrown away.
you've ruined your only future, and left behind your family.
they're throwing flowers in the river, tears are being shed, you are missed.
they're throwing flowers in the river where your body cold was found, you are missed.
now i sit down here at low tide.
(???)
stephen, this is where i live now, and i've overcome my demons.
i have grown out of that thinking that would not let me live or give.
i throw my flowers in the river, tears are being shed, you are missed.
and the poem reads, and i remember the day you told me that the sun, the sun, the sun, the sun is often out.
yes, the sun, the sun, the sun, the sun is often out.
i wish i had known you better.
yes, the sun, the sun, the sun, the sun is often out.
was your work of art so heavy that it would not let you live?