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.
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.