| The clouds salivating
|
| Drooling from the sky at the thought of the trouble to wreak
|
| 'Til lightning breached their bellies
|
| Caesarean section washes pigment from every street
|
| And it’s high tide, as the sewers rise
|
| And the drains have become obsolete
|
| Seems there’s no place in this town
|
| For something as pure as you seem
|
| I’m diving into headers
|
| Put this pretty face where the boots are flying in
|
| Been bobbing rotten apples
|
| Water to my waist in a shark-infested bin
|
| People laugh, they will call it folly
|
| But we connected like a Yeboah volley
|
| I’m totting up my worth in stamps
|
| But doing it in second class
|
| I heard that it hurts, and I said
|
| Ohhh
|
| Two wrists, two wrist watches
|
| Tick-tick-tocking, second hands slightly out of time
|
| A constant subtle reminder
|
| One of us will be gone before bells of the other chime
|
| I requested a room with a view
|
| In the middle of a war between me and you
|
| And leave with all the dignity
|
| Of missed Panenka penalty
|
| And I heard that it hurts, and I said
|
| I’ll be gloomy 'til they glue me
|
| In the arms of she who loves me
|
| She smiled at a joke, but I said
|
| I’ll be gloomy 'til they glue me
|
| In the arms of she who loves me
|
| 'Til the rats and worms are all interned
|
| At least 5 feet above we
|
| Draw me like one of your fence, girls
|
| Stood erect as a post, head to toe in creosote
|
| We’re blocking out all the lapsed-punks
|
| Listen them piss and moan, counting out major notes
|
| Banned from every bar in town
|
| Snooker balls, a weapon made
|
| Snooker cue held upside down
|
| Propelled like helicopter blade
|
| I’ll be gloomy 'til they glue me
|
| In the arms of she who loves me
|
| She smiled at a joke, but I said
|
| I’ll be gloomy 'til they glue me
|
| In the arms of she who loves me
|
| 'Til the rats and worms are all interned
|
| At least 5 feet above we
|
| The crowds celebrating
|
| Drooling from each side with the thought of the trouble to wreak
|
| And you hear them singing
|
| In every room, from nursery to tomb
|
| «Ex-boyfriend, give us a song
|
| Ex-boyfriend, boyfriend, give us a song
|
| Ex-boyfriend, give us a song
|
| Ex-boyfriend, boyfriend, give us a song» |