"Hate your face/don't want you coming round my place/leave heralone/don't even call her on the phone". The verse was awful, soundinglike textbook teen...angst. I couldn't believe I had written something solyrically bad.The chorus was worse, but not for the same reason. "Hate you, burn you,fucking flay you, thief that stole my life, hope fucking dogs will rapeyou!"I stared at the words, amazed that I had written something so vile, sogrotesque. I had written songs about paedophiles and child. We were both okay. I asked her about the early calls that morning. She was worried, the calls were disturbed. In them, the end of the world arose. I had mentioned it. And I had understood if she never wanted to see me. I laughed at this. We agreed I was wasted. She departed for The City the next night. I offered to drive her, borrow a car. ‘ No, I already have a ride.’ She said, ‘My friends and I are calling a cab.’ Five of them in all, too many for a normal car. ‘That’s rough, I wanted to. More

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