The Hangover Of A Century

​You never miss home on holiday 

til you’re hungover. 
Where is the fog

hiding all the clumsy footprints I left on the edge of someone’s heart? 

These foreign walls are too bright, too big

and for some reason, always too yellow. 

Where did 

I leave my shoes? 

I only brought two pairs and I have to walk to breakfast, 

curse that continental spread cause all I want’s a Tattie Scone.

And this fucking heat

makes fighting the whitey ten times harder. 

How am I ever going to feel better without the aid of Irn Bru 

or of you? 
There is too much water between us now to run, but if this hadn’t been so expensive I’d still try. 

You’re all bright eyes in my livingroom and unexotic airs

but I don’t care. 

Cause Egypt’s too hot this time of year,

and I could proper go some bacon. 

My stomach’s churning faster than an engine and I’m near dizzy at the sensation.

Everyone else is by the pool, I’d rather be by George Square 

cause I don’t care to go anywhere without you.

We’re both Scottish,

so I think we were born always longing to be home.

That’s why we have so many folk songs 

and every American MacSomething pretends he’s one of us. 

Other places are alright,

please don’t get me wrong. 

But give me rain. Give me hills. Give me song,
and I’ll spend every note on longing after you.

Cause I’m a sap. 

And I know my rhyming’s crap 

but I’d trade this whole bloody week just to be next to you.

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