| I wanna start from
|
| Before the beginning
|
| Loot wine, «Be mine, and
|
| Then let’s stay out for the night»
|
| Ride via Parkside
|
| Semi-perilous lives
|
| Jeer the lights in the windows
|
| Of all safe and stable homes
|
| (But wondering then, well what
|
| Could peace of mind be like ?)
|
| Anyway do you want to hear
|
| Our story, or not?
|
| As the Fulham Road lights
|
| Stretch and invite into the night
|
| From a Stevenage overspill
|
| We’d kill to live around
|
| SW6 — with someone like you
|
| Keep thieves' hours
|
| With someone like you
|
| …As long as it slides
|
| You stalk the house
|
| In a low-cut blouse:
|
| «Oh Christ, another stifled
|
| Friday night !»
|
| And the Fulham Road lights
|
| Stretch and invite into the night
|
| Well, I was fifteen
|
| What could I know?
|
| When the gulf between
|
| All the things I need
|
| And the things I receive
|
| Is an ancient ocean
|
| Wide, wild, lost, uncrossed
|
| Still I maintain there’s nothing
|
| Wrong with you
|
| You do all that you do
|
| Because it’s all you can do
|
| Well, I was fifteen
|
| Where could I go?
|
| With a soul full of loathing
|
| For stinging bureaucracy
|
| Making it anything
|
| Other than easy
|
| For working girls like me
|
| With my hands on my head
|
| I flop on your bed
|
| With a head full of dread
|
| For all I’ve ever said
|
| Maladjusted, maladjusted
|
| Maladjusted maladjusted
|
| Never to be trusted
|
| Oh, never to be trusted
|
| There’s nothing wrong with you, oh
|
| …There's nothing wrong with you |