| Wrong drink to order.
|
| Suspicion grows,
|
| wrong situation…
|
| Oh, no-one knows where you’ve gone to in the pagan night
|
| and the neon reflections
|
| spread cadmium white.
|
| You came here looking for something
|
| but this wasn’t it, quite.
|
| Hey, take a Polaroid, exit,
|
| and well you might.
|
| Sign the picture, get out of the frame;
|
| sign the picture, and throw it away.
|
| Sign the picture, sign the picture,
|
| throw the picture away.
|
| Now she turns her attention
|
| and her camera on you:
|
| this could be all of the moments
|
| that you’ll ever live through,
|
| oh, but your heart beats the rythm
|
| of primeval tattoo…
|
| I hear you make your excuses
|
| as you usually do.
|
| Sign the picture, get out of the frame;
|
| sign the picture, and throw it away;
|
| Sign the picture, sign the picture,
|
| throw the picture away…
|
| … although it’s going to come back.
|
| You’ve got a certain knack
|
| of making of such things
|
| auspicious signs. |