| Tonight she’ll be beautiful again
|
| And I’ll be full of wine again
|
| And all I’ll remember as the fire turns to ember
|
| Is that her lips were so warm and my feet were almost cold
|
| Halfway through December
|
| A cowboy Saturday night
|
| And a poet Sunday afternoon
|
| I woke up dreaming of my trust fund
|
| With a start that split the spoon
|
| And don’t blame the tonic, blame the gin
|
| I sent you a million kisses on the wind
|
| But the wind was roaring, and turned into stormy whirls
|
| That placed them on the lips of other girls
|
| And do blame anyone but me…
|
| Blame this city, blame the movies, blame our genes
|
| That all the girls are turning into ladies
|
| And us my brothers, we’re turning into machines
|
| Forgive me and keep me safe from harm
|
| Wrap me up in tender arms
|
| There are so many faces
|
| And I always get lost in the wrong places
|
| So strap these anchors to my heart
|
| Strap these anchors to my heart
|
| (Strap these anchors to this heart) |