Famous Fur Trenchoat

Its four in the morning
The end of December.
I'm writing a letter
To see if your better.
Melbourne is cold but I like where I'm living
There's music on Chapel street all through the evening.
I hear your still in your house, high in the hills
And that your still on the pills
Your living for nothing now, I hope your keeping some kind of
book
And remember how you used to look
at our lives
And remember the times
That have been.

The last time I saw you looked so much older
Your famous fur trenchcoat was torn at the shoulder.
Your face was much grimmer
You seemed so much thinner
You asked me to score for you
Just for a change
And you showed me the scars, you got from your knife
And you treated my evening, to a line of your life.
And till we came down, we were nobodies strife

And I can still taste, the times that have been
You and me, gypsy queen.
But I hope you're OK.
And what can I tell you,
My sister, my killer.
What can I possibly say?
I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you.
I'm sorry I stood in your way.

And I see you there with the belt in your teeth.
One more thin junkie thief
And your cant feel the grief
That I do
And Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
On one of those times that had been.
On a night that you planned to go clean.