We talk about each other On our wrap around couch, And live out all the romance In our little town house. I never fit the shower And she never sews the threads, And so we find our feelings In other people's beds. And if the grass seems greener, But it turns out to be blue The garden of eden isn't quite the place for you. Don't be surprised if I'm gone under the spell, Of some other witches' wand Ringing someone else's bell.
Meeting on the motorway Your lover boy blue, Steaming up the windows With your last breath of youth. Don't you think I see it Your handbag's full of notes, I'm feeling like the punch line In someone's private joke.
Our eyes don't seem to contact Never much to say, Except perhaps excuse me Or pass me the ashtray. I see him waiting for you As you go off to work, I'm left to draw conclusions While I button up my shirt.
Printer Friendly Version
