Lyrics:
Telephone callTelling meMy old friend Graham had diedI took a rideDown to where ICould be of assistanceI said to his wifeDont give inTo grieving cliche and turnHis side of the roomInto a shrineIt just doesnt workMy arm round her shoulderGently I told herDead men dont need season ticketsNow that hes goneYoure gonna needA helping hand with the lawnVarious choresNot least of allThose funeral arrangementsIf I were youId get myselfAway from all that relatesWeek in the lakesReasonable ratesEarly SeptemberNow Im no hotelierJust thought Id tell yerDead men dont need season ticketsMaybe Im forwardMaybe Im morbidDead men dont need season ticketsDead men dont need season ticketsIn a mortuaryIn the mortuaryIn the mortuaryIn the mortuary