THE ONE ABOUT GIRLS AND FAGS

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I've got to give you up like cigarettes, and I guess I'm coping. You know I still love smoking, but you'll kill me in the end. When a friend becomes an ex, it's never easy - and the book you're reading doesn't seem to help.

I know it's not grown up and I'm being a fool, but I saw you in the pub and I still thought you looked cool. But the heartache and the shaking won't be something I'll miss until I see you leave a restaurant on someone else's lips.

I've got to give you up like cigarettes, got to get your scent off my clothes, out of my hair. I' m trying to forget that you taste so good after sex, when you're lit up like a Christmas tree, God you make me catch my breath.

Now, leaving the house without you's going to be weird, but I hope in time my heart and maybe my mind will have cleared. Now I know you're the devil, and I am sure you exist, because you came into my life with a flame and a hiss.

I've got to give up on you baby because this thing has dragged on for ages. I'll try and think of the money I'm saving, but you smell amazing, and I still get cravings for you now.

SHE DOESN'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT

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She doesn't want to talk about it. He won't be the last one to come between us, and I've still got some problems I still want to discuss. She doesn't want to talk about it. She says it's been a long December and there's been too much said, but the night she can't remember is the night I can't forget.

And if I could be most anywhere, well I would be back there. Drinking in the [insert name of pub here] and playing with your hair. Forget my lines and Valentine's, and all the things I've seen. We'd get our kicks and steal a kiss way back in N16.

She doesn't want to talk about it, but I would do some press-ups for a girl like her. I'd clean my fucking mess up for a woman like her. I'd give up dungeons, give up dragons, give up all the fun I'm having for just one more chance of grabbing somebody like her.

I'd drag my ass through broken glass to be there by her side, I'd melt down all my records and tear the stars out of the sky. I'd give up the drink and have a long hard think about my life, if you would only call me later so we can talk about last night.

But she doesn't want to talk about it.

THE EVENING GUEST

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I'm the evening guest. I don't know the family that well. I sit at a table on my own. I stop in a different hotel.

And I'll come off the bench with my tie tied around my head (like Rambo) I am shooting at the band. I'm in the middle of the dancefloor, trying to get undressed, singing 'Do you think I'm sexy?' Oh yes.

I'm the evening guest, and I guess you wonder why I've come. Well I'm here to oversee a major buffet operation. I'm here to pester someone's Mum.

And I can't describe all the love I feel inside, or what I do for a living. But I know I want to dance with you 'til my feet turn black and blue - or until you give in.

I'm the evening guest.

HOW DO THEY STAY IN THE AIR?

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They look so beautiful that I might cry; engines glinting in the sun. But doesn't terminal mean I'm going to die? Just like runways mean I run. And what was that about Icarus, trying too close to the sun? Baby you and I, well, we were meant to fly. We've got wings instead of thumbs.

Girl I'm not afraid of flying, I'm just sick and tired of trying, It never seems to get me anywhere. I understand your diagrams, but they don't help my shaking hands. You need to know that I'm not scared. How do they stay in the air?

It's such a privilege to be by your side, I feel like a captain of the sky. I wanted to show you my frequent flyer miles, but when the 'seatbelts' light blacked out baby so did I.

God I'm not the praying type, but I might need a word tonight, these runway lights are giving me the fear. If this bastard ever lands, can I still hold this lady's hand? She needn't know that I'm so scared. How do they stay in the air?



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GET ON WITH IT WAGSTAFF

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Well, it was in the year 2000, or maybe 2001, I was acting 27, I was feeling 51, when I realised my real life wasn't really that much fun, so I bought myself a guitar and tried to write some songs.

At first it wasn't easy the words just wouldn't come, the chords all sounded maudlin; I should've bought a drum. But I'd booked a date and told my mates so I gave it my best shot. "After thirty years of hurt," they said, "is that really all you've got."

So I went back to the drawing board, and I wrote myself a joke, I told you that Puff Daddy died, you said "Diddy?" and I said, "no". It wasn't very funny but everybody seemed to laugh. now whenever I explain my pain there's sniggering at the bar.

And for a fat boy from a village, that made me feel like Sonic Youth, like my silly little stories hid some huge eternal truth, and when a girl I'd seen came up to me and said, "you're not that bad," well I realised that rock and roll's the best job I've ever had.

So I sold my soul for rock and roll. I didn't get much money, but at least I got to start the show.

WOLFPACK OF ONE'S GONNA BREAK YER BAKK

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And, no, I'm not writing out the words...