|
The impact, the aftershave, the european cigarettes |
|
The taxi, the alcohol that lingers on your breath |
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The lipstick, the street lamp, the woolen overcoat |
|
The front desk, you tell yourself, it isn't over yet |
|
Second best, oh second best |
|
I can learn to live with this |
|
Plus I really need a rest |
|
After all what's wrong with second best |
|
What's wrong with second best |
|
The motel, the distances, cave into kisses cold and wet |
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Familiar exchanges, like needle pulling thread |
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The empty movements that once were so inspired |
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Desperate attempts to fan the flames without a fire |
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The mattress creeks beneath |
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The symphony of misery and cum |
|
Still we lie jerking back and forth |
|
And blurring into one |
|
Second best oh second best |
|
I can learn to live with this |
|
Plus I really need a rest |
|
After all what's wrong with second best |
|
What's wrong with second best |
