Los Campesinos! In medias res

But let's talk about you for a minute,
With the vomit in your gullet,
From a half bottle of vodka that we'd stolen from the optic.
On the back seat in your car because it wasn't safe to start it,
You were "far too fucked to drive" were the words that you imparted.
And the woolen dress that clung so tight,
To the contours of your body.
And the dead grass stuck to fibers from us rolling in the layby,
Were passed to dog-haired blankets that protected the back seat covers,
And a crucifix was hung from rear-view mirror by your mother.

I'm leaving my body to science;
Not medical but physics.
Drag my corpse through the airport and lay me limp on the left wing.
Drop me at the highest point and trace a line around the dent I leave in the ground:
That'll be the initial of the one you will marry now I'm not around.
I flew for seven hours.
The sky didn't once turn black.

I wake from sleep my head and shoulders wet against the window.
A frost had formed and melted,
Soaked me right through to my collar bone.
If you were given the option of dying painlessly in peace at forty-five,
But with a lover at your side,
After a full and happy life.
Is this something that would interest you?
Would this interest you at all?