| He stood naked outside the door
|
| Handsome with dark eyes flashing
|
| The winds blew straight in off the moor
|
| The sisters stopped their pacing
|
| Through the flickering firelight
|
| Shadows jumped across the floor
|
| Pounding hearts and rushing blood
|
| Romantic thoughts and fears
|
| Dora, Dora, looking in the mirror
|
| Acting out your mothers clothes
|
| Dreaming, dreaming
|
| No-one will ever know
|
| The autumn leaves are falling
|
| Through the dreary evening sky
|
| In St. John’s Wood a woman waits
|
| Sitting on a leather sofa
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| The psychiatrists smiles sadly and licked his lips
|
| As she uncrossed her legs
|
| The ticking o an antique clock
|
| Penetrates the gloom
|
| In the pitch black dungeon
|
| The slaves touched up the black paint
|
| Upstairs the maid took details on the phone
|
| While the minister waited in the bathroom
|
| She’s twenty seven and with a lovely figure
|
| Experienced in these careful arts
|
| The purr of an expensive car
|
| In the alleyway outside |