| Sitting in a mess still undressed
|
| As the kettle whistle blows
|
| Paper back Novelette still open
|
| And the door is closed
|
| You got a real sick mind
|
| You write a column for The Times
|
| For all the lovers gone blind
|
| Who are looking for a sign
|
| And when the night is over
|
| And the drugs are gone
|
| All you’ve got is your four leaf clover
|
| You keep inside your coat
|
| And when the night is over
|
| And the drugs are gone
|
| You feel the world is getting colder
|
| You got no one to hold
|
| Six pages down and she’s lighting up
|
| Her train wreck Soul
|
| She was abandoned by her lover
|
| Left by the road
|
| So apalling scrawling those bullshit words
|
| It’s thirsty work
|
| She’ll stumble down to the boozer
|
| Just to have a flirt
|
| You got a real sick mind
|
| You write a column for The Times
|
| For all the lovers gone blind
|
| Who are looking for a sign
|
| And when the night is over
|
| And the drugs are gone
|
| All you’ve got is your four leaf clover
|
| You keep inside your coat
|
| And when the night is over
|
| And the drugs are gone
|
| You feel the world is getting colder
|
| You got no one to hold
|
| You got no one to hold
|
| You got a real sick mind
|
| You got a real sick mind
|
| And when the night is over
|
| And the drugs are gone
|
| All you’ve got is your four leaf clover
|
| You keep inside your coat
|
| And when the night is over
|
| And the drugs are gone
|
| You feel the world is getting colder
|
| You got no one to hold
|
| You got no one to hold
|
| You got no one to hold
|
| You got no one to hold |