Telephone call
Telling me my old friend Graham had died
I took a ride
Down to where I could be of assistance

Said to his wife
Don’t give in to grieving cliche & turn
His side of the room into a shrine
It just doesn’t work

My arm 'round her shoulder
Gently I told her
Dead men don’t need season tickets

Now that he’s gone
You’re gonna need a helping hand with the lawn
Various chores
Not least of all: those funeral arrangements

If I were you
I’d get myself away from all that relates
A week in the lakes
Reasonable rates, early September

Now I’m no hotelier
Just thought I’d tell ya
Dead men don’t need season tickets

Maybe I’m forward
Maybe I’m morbid
Dead men don’t need season tickets

Dead men don’t need season tickets
In a mortuary
In the mortuary
In the mortuary
In the mortuary


Lyrics submitted by vchamberlain

Dead Men Don’t Need Season Tickets song meanings
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