| Like the contents of your handbag
|
| You don’t know why it’s there
|
| People ask you where you’re heading
|
| You just answer, «Anywhere»
|
| We don’t mean to be this vague
|
| It just happens that we are
|
| No one asked us to elaborate
|
| We just shrug our shoulders and be
|
| And like the stories that just happened
|
| No one thought of, no one planned
|
| We could have ruled, we could have conquered
|
| Then we could have been a man
|
| We could be ex-husband
|
| We could be ex-wife
|
| But no one looks at a menu
|
| In a greasy spoon life
|
| Alone, alone
|
| Half an hour is seven hours
|
| One day is several months
|
| Alone, alone
|
| A month is a calendar
|
| A year can be a decade spent alone
|
| He knows, 'Hello' in eighteen languages
|
| 'I love you' in only one
|
| By the time he’s got his phrasebook
|
| The chance is usually gone
|
| And we feel ourselves quite prepared
|
| But quite prepared for what?
|
| We always took the lead
|
| Before we actually knew the plot
|
| And you can tell where we’ve been shopping
|
| By the bags beneath our eyes
|
| Make-up shoulders burden
|
| But the smile never lies
|
| We could be ex-husband
|
| We could be ex-wife
|
| But no one looks at the menu
|
| In a greasy spoon life
|
| So empty at the airport
|
| You don’t set off the doors
|
| We used to feel like chorus girls
|
| And now we feel like whores
|
| Hearts built like reservoirs
|
| Words built like dams
|
| Thoughts built like juggernauts
|
| Our actions built like prams
|
| And when the wind blows into our face
|
| We should be warmer and not colder
|
| Well, what price the charges
|
| On this cargo that we shoulder
|
| We could be ex-husband
|
| We could be ex-wife
|
| But no one looks at the menu
|
| In a greasy spoon life
|
| And we only smoke when bored
|
| So we do two packs a day
|
| And we’ve lost the difference
|
| Between bored and lonely anyway
|
| Alone, alone
|
| Alone, alone
|
| Alone, alone |