For thirty-two years you've been mine, all mine.
So thankyou for being my Valentine,
Thankyou for keeping me company,
Thankyou for just turning out for me.

Thanks for the staring and dressing in white.
Thanks for the starlight and walking each night.
Thanks for the nights when we've shared every laugh.
Thanks for the champagne we've sipped in the bath.

For thirty-two years we've been living as one:
You quietly lingering after my fun,
I playing mercy and losing each game,
You softly smiling so wide at my shame.

Thanks for your endless support through my tears.
Thanks for your hand clasping mine in your fear.
Thanks for your waiting for me after work.
Thanks for your hiding when I go berserk.

For thirty-two years, yes it's thirty-two now,
I never quite noticed your furrowing brow;
I never heard what you were saying to me:
I just never knew I was too blind to see.

Thanks for my vision, albeit too late.
Thanks for my valleys and rivers of hate.
Thanks for my chapel and skyscraper dream.
Thanks for my nightmares, whatever they mean.

For thirty-two years I've been living like shite,
Every day worse than the previous night;
Every step plumetting into a pit,
Every glance upwards just deluged by shit.

Thanks for your nicknames and scything derisions.
Thanks for the bullets in all your provisions.
Thanks for each buzz that you gave me for sinister.
Thanks for each slap that you failed to administer.