Since I last spoke to them, at least a year has passed
Emails and text messages and actual posts amassed
They're spilling out the letterbox and piled up on the grass
'Cause all of my friends are dead to me but you
Both of us agreed that we'd no longer speak to Jack
Since he borrowed 50 bar and didn't give it back
And you planted the evidence in the bag that he would pack
Now all of my friends are dead to me but you
All of my friends are dead or holed up in their shed
Complaining as we do, us older men
We're left twiddling our thumbs, always moaning, "No one comes"
In truth, it's probably me who's dead to them
♪
Either something that they took from us or something that they said
Christmas card they didn't send, a birthday missed instead
Now the phone line's disabled and the children, they've all fled
And all of my friends are dead to me but you
Neither of us have had the time to even phone my mum
Increasingly, my sister hasn't had the time to come
Excommunication starts with the raising of a thumb
And all of my friends are dead to me but you, ahh
All of my friends are dead or holed up in their shed
Complaining as we do, us older men
We're left twiddling our thumbs, always moaning, "No one comes"
In truth, it's probably me who's dead to them
♪
John and I stopped talking when he left Brenda for Sue
You said they're equally guilty, so we cut off Brenda too
For the first time in my personal charts, there's a permanent number one
Now my right hand man's a woman and all of my friends have gone (gone, gone, gone...), ahh
All of my friends are dead or holed up in their shed
Complaining as we do, us older men
We're left twiddling our thumbs, always moaning, "No one comes"
In truth, it's probably me who's dead to them
In truth, it's probably me who's dead to them