| They take apart their bodies like toys for the local boys
|
| Because they’re always there at the edge of the water
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| They come from the capital these city girls
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| Go way down where the stones meet the sea
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| And all you young girls, where do you hide?
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| Down by the water and the restless tide
|
| And the local boys hide on the mound and watch
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| Reaching for the speech and the word to be heard
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| And the boys grow hard, hard to be heard
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| Hard to be heard as they reach for the speech
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| And search for the word on the water’s edge
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| But you grow old and you grow cold
|
| Yeah you grow old and you grow cold
|
| And they would come in their hoards these city girls
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| With white strings flowing from their ears
|
| As the local boys behind the mound think long and hard
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| About the girls from the capital
|
| Who dance at the water’s edge
|
| Shaking their asses
|
| And all you young lovers
|
| Where do you hide?
|
| Down by the water and the restless tide
|
| With a bible of tricks they do with their legs
|
| The girls reach for the speech and the speech to be heard
|
| To be hard the local boys teem down the mound
|
| And seize the girls from the capital
|
| Who shriek at the edge of the water
|
| Shriek to speak and reach for the speech
|
| Yeah reach for the speech and be heard
|
| But you grow old and you grow cold
|
| Yeah you grow old and you grow cold
|
| You grow old
|
| Their legs wide to the world like bibles open
|
| To be speared and taking their bodies apart like toys
|
| They dismantle themselves by the waters edge
|
| And reach for the speech and the wide wide world
|
| And, God knows, the local boys
|
| It’s the will of love
|
| It’s the thrill of love
|
| Ah but the chill of love
|
| Is comin' on
|
| It’s the will of love
|
| It’s the thrill of love
|
| Ah but the chill of love
|
| Is comin' on
|
| It’s the will of love
|
| It’s the thrill of love
|
| Ah but the chill of love
|
| Is comin' down, people |