| Michael's bones | |
| Lay where he fell | |
| Face down on a sports ground | |
| Oh ... | |
| He was just somebody's luckless son | |
| Oh, but now look what he's done | |
| Oh, look what he's done | |
| Your gentle hands are frozen | |
| And your unkissed lips are blue | |
| Your thinning clothes are hopeless | |
| And no one was mad about you | |
| Michael's bones | |
| Were very young | |
| But they were never to know | |
| Oh ... | |
| Impetuous fun | |
| Mr. policeman | |
| I don't know where you get such notions from | |
| His gentle hands are frozen | |
| And his unkissed lips are blue | |
| But his eyes still cry | |
| And now you've turned the last bend | |
| And see - are we all judged the same at the end? | |
| Tell me, tell me | |
| Oh, you lucky thing | |
| You are too brave | |
| And i'm ashamed of myself | |
| As usual | |
| Oh ... |
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