It was seven o'clock in the morning Too late to handle the day At home it was only two thirty The skin on my wrists turning grey He stood up, wished us good luck He changed his attitude twice The box in the corner shivered in fear It was tired and hungry for days The next year she bought a new stomach Of Liverpool made in Detroit Constantly passing old matches Some sentries and millionaires Who did? Gallagher did The same old thing every time Gave up more empty cups They were tired and hungry for nights It made life a little easier To have Holland on the run It didn't take that long to forget her My old man and his gun Rushed out, lions about Wasting away on advice A hundred and three, four hundred or more It'll haunt you for the rest of your life