(intro) F# E (x4)
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Telephone call telling me my old friend Graham had died
E Eb G#m F#
I took a ride down to where I could be of assistance.
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I said to his wife don’t give into grieving cliché and turn
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His side of the room into a shrine, it just doesn’t work.
B F# B
My arm round her shoulder, gently I told her
E Eb G#m (instr) F# E (x4)
Dead men don’t need season tickets.
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Now that he’s gone you’re gonna need a helping hand with the lawn
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Various chores – not least of all, those funeral arrangements.
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If I were you I’d get myself away from all that relates
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Week in the lakes, reasonable rates early September.
B F# B
Now I’m no hotelier, just thought I’d tell yer
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Dead men don’t need season tickets.
B F# B
Maybe I’m forward, maybe I’m morbid
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Dead men don’t need season tickets.
E Eb G#m
Dead men don’t need season tickets.
F# B F# B
In the mortuary, in the mortuary
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In the mortuary, in the mortuary.