| Babe
|
| There’s something tragic about you
|
| Something so magic about you
|
| Don’t you agree?
|
| Babe
|
| There’s something lonesome about you
|
| Something so wholesome about you
|
| Get closer to me
|
| No tired sigh, no rolling eyes
|
| No irony
|
| No «Who cares?», no vacant stare
|
| No time for me
|
| Honey, you’re familiar, like my mirror years ago
|
| Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword
|
| Innocence died screaming
|
| honey, ask me, I should know
|
| I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door
|
| Babe
|
| There’s something wretched about this
|
| Something so precious about this
|
| Where to begin?
|
| Babe
|
| There’s something broken about this
|
| But I might be hoping about this
|
| Oh, what a sin
|
| To the strand, a picnic planned
|
| For you and me
|
| A rope in hand for your other man
|
| To hang from a tree
|
| Honey, you’re familiar, like my mirror years ago
|
| Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword
|
| Innocence died screaming; |
| honey, ask me, I should know
|
| I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door
|
| Honey, you’re familiar, like my mirror years ago
|
| Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword
|
| Innocence died screaming; |
| honey, ask me, I should know
|
| I slithered here from Eden just to hide outside your door |