Organic Acid Lyrics - Kate Bush

He got her drunk very quickly 

Holding hands, they found the broom-cupboard 

Where he had control as far as the fall 

When his hand covered wet hair 

She took over among furniture wax 

Dust, and the cloying yellow of polishing-cloth 

When he was sick, she comforted him 

Oh hush, my friend, and sleep 

And cuddle to the wind 

Sleep on through the waves 

That may wet your lover's dream 

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We have been far through this night long hours 

We will go far, tomorrow, out of sight, ooh... 

He couldn't do it properly 

The disco, the office, the pub, 

Had left out those details of delight. 

Satisfied, he would collapse out, 

Puzzled at why she still squirmed, 

Held onto him, tears curling into her mouth 

This was something their stories always omitted 

That her joy would seem like pain 

When he focused after his release. 

Do sand and shells and stones 

Peep in through your night? 

But you should not be hurt 

For all will pass with time. 

We have been far through this night long hours 

We will go far, tomorrow, out of sight, ooh... 

Photos 

In the third week of the relationship 

She was tripping on organic acid 

Would stop to pick up a rained-out leaf 

Would give it tenderly into his hand 

Full of dead things before they reached the car 

When they drove she sat with mouth open 

As though photographed on the impact of a stomach punch 

Her right fist gripping the skin of his left leg 

Hooking the steering-wheel closer to his heart 

He feared her, and slapped out sideways into her face 

She entered the cut with her tongue 

Gurgling gratitude for the strange taste 

Do you fear the dark? 

Then hush, and realise 

That though the angels never come 

Prayers can soothe your mind 

We have been far through this night long hour 

We will go far, tomorrow, out of sight, ooh... 

There was no premonition of the wet Hog's Back 

The sportscar slumped, snout into a beech 

Their corpses giving the vehicle arms 

Petrol and blood at last dripping together 

But quick flashes of a planned lunch 

Cold red beef, white cloth by a cherrywood fire 

Game pie, and for him two pints of colder beer 

The winter air tucking under their eyelids 

As they spun on the gravel at Clandon 

Their hands steaming from quick moisture 

The aromatic finger drawn up to his nostril 

Dazed after mutual masturbation 

They zigzagged into a conservative end 

Oh hush, my friend, asleep