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Clapton |
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Why thank you, yes - I guess I'm doing fine, |
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The chances are I just could lose my mind, |
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'Cause I'm sure I was with you that icy winter's night, |
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And this picture in my memory, sure seems to fit your smile; |
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Don't you remember me, I played my song on your telephone, |
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And I'm sure that you're the girl who painted children upon my window, |
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And changed the lights in my room to sad blue shadows, |
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Then when I woke up in the morning babe, you had flown. |
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CHORUS: |
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Don't you sit out on the street, at Don Quixote's feet, |
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'Cause he don't need you babe, half as much as me, |
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And if you've got nowhere to go, won't you come in out of the cold. |
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Well I'll bet you never thought I'd recognise, |
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That the tune you're humming, just happens to be mine, |
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And I've known that hazy flicker in your eyes, |
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And the way you sway your head from side to side, |
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When you're all dressed up in your sixteenth century clothes, |
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Hung on your body in Da Vinci ratio, |
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Every time you move you strike a pose, |
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Won't you please be in my Magic Theatre show. |
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CHORUS: |
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Now I'm feeling things that just don't seem quite right, |
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There's a high pitched humming on my old electric light, |
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Like a hundred sitars droning through the night, |
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Flashing off and on like some crazy neon sign; |
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Feel like I'm in a Bunuel movie, right here at home, |
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Surreal as Ornette Coleman's saxophone, |
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Playing on my broken gramophone, |
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Oh baby, don't you leave me here alone. |
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CHORUS: |
