Hate for the Island - Los Campesinos!

We straddled your windowpane

(Smoked the last)

Of the weed that sent you insane

In a public loo

In a borough of London

That I won’t mention

You phoned me in Minnesota

Said you had a vital question

(And as we smoked)

You feared you neighbours might see

(We watched a fox)

Rip out the contents of each

Bin-bag that lined the road

And then you turned to see me mouth

«Those entrails are how I’ll feel

When you decide to leave me.»

Now I’ve a whole lot of hate for the island

Since your friends buried you down there

Six feet deep beneath the sand

But at least I know we’ll never be

That far now from each other

Just a couple hundred feet either side of sea level

It’s no lie if the waters rose

And drowned that place from coast to coast

You wouldn’t see this smile leave

My face for all eternity.