From London to Scotland

There's London and Scotland and nothing in-between
there's London and Scotland and nothing to be seen
for I sit on this bus, wondering what I've become
now my mother's dead and my father's done
five hundred miles for a funeral to attend
for two people, who died the very same end
I question myself, and about their affliction
could I have saved them from their liquid addiction ?
or were they already dead, by the time I was born
I have nothing but doubts on this long journey home
so to forget this pain, I look at those around
at those travelling north, like me, homebound
as a smell of whisky drifts from the back
while the man in front, opens another six-pack
and a drunk woman left, sings Flower of Scotland
and the man next to me, smiles, with a beer in his hand
and I look out the window, passing the packed pubs and bars
watching the people stagger with the keys to their cars
and I see these children lost once drink has been found
those adults smashed, those grown-ups drowned
but soon I see my long lost friend
Glasgow, my home, my journey's end
and I realise there's not much you really can do
when you're brainwashed into this culture of booze
and my parents death, is just a reflection
of a United Kingdom and its liquid affection
and from London to Scotland, there's nothing to be seen
from London to Scotland there's nothing in-between