There's a haze on the skyline, to wish me on my way. And there's a note on the telephone --- some roses on a Tray. And the motorway's stretching right out to us all, As I pull on my old wings --- one white duck On your wall. Isn't it just too damn real? I'll catch a ride on your violin --- strung upon your bow. And I'll float on your melody --- sing your chorus soft And low. There's a picture-view postcard to say that I called. You can see from the fireplace, one white duck On your wall. Isn't it just too damn real? So fly away peter and fly away paul --- from the Finger-tip ledge of contentment. The long restless rustle of high-heeled boots calls. And I'm probably bound to deceive you after all.
Something must be wrong with me and my brain --- If I'm so patently unrewarding. But my dreams are for dreaming and best left that Way --- and my zero to your power of ten equals Nothing at all.
There's no double-lock defense there's no chain on my door. I'm available for consultation, But remember your way in is also my way out, and Love's four-letter word is no compensation.
Well, I'm the black ace dog-handler: I'm a waiter on Skates --- so don't you jump to your foreskin conclusion. Because I'm up to my deaf ears in cold breakfast trays --- To be cleared before I can dine on your sweet sunday Lunch confusion.
Printer Friendly Version
