|
Well the words that we spoke in the bar in the car |
|
And at Goose Fair on the waltzers |
|
And the big wheel in your kitchen in the greenhouse in my garden |
|
Dozing in the giant pillow of a bouncy castle |
|
With Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel |
|
Halfway down to Blackpool Tower |
|
These words have filled my finest hours |
|
Like a bottle of milk they soured |
|
And I'm wondering tonight |
|
Wondering tonight |
|
If your skin is still as thin |
|
As it was those mornings |
|
We were sieved together and fried in pans |
|
And on your make-up stand it said my number in red |
|
But you had filled your net |
|
Sending off your kids like crows |
|
Still, in Wymeswold at the end of the summer |
|
I could smoke one off the end of another |
|
And I could say the right thing and piss off your mother |
|
Who you never really cared for |
|
But now I'm wondering tonight |
|
Wondering tonight |
|
If your skin is still as thin |
|
As it was those mornings anyway... |
|
Anyway! |
|
Anyway! |
|
Anyway! |
|
Anyway! |
|
Well there is light in any one of these tunnels |
|
Spurting up the stained funnel |
|
Of your Italian ex-boyfriend's coffee machine |
|
Which I stole when he left for Bologna |
|
And when I burnt my finger on it |
|
It's like he came back and bit me for it |
|
And you got cystitis didn't you |
|
Didn't you then |
|
With no purpose but to work |
|
And feel physical in nylon |
|
With the chocolate we survived on |
|
(The chocolate we dined on!) |
|
Melting in its plastic wrapper packet (in your pocket!) |
|
You crawled eight-legged down the drive |
|
And I'm wondering tonight |
|
Wondering tonight |
|
If your skin is still as thin |
|
As it was those mornings anyway... |
|
Anyway! |
|
Anyway! |
|
Anyway! |
|
Anyway? Anyway... |
|
Well the words that we spoke in the bar in the car |
|
And at Goose Fair on the waltzers |
|
And the big wheel in your kitchen in the greenhouse in my garden |
|
Dozing in the giant pillow of a bouncy castle |
|
With Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel |
|
Halfway down to Blackpool Tower |
|
These words have filled my finest hours |
|
Like a bottle of milk they soured |