I have over loved you and overseen you. And now you're refusing the gifts that I bring you. My hands have been clasping my hot head and asking. "If she submits to me, will she be my property?".
Though the coffins are calling, I'm not coming. I'm too young to listen and I'm still scrawling on. See-saws and slides, skipping ropes and swings. Toothpaste and trousers, watches and wedding rings.
Like it or not, you'll see my face soon. I'll force my way up into your room. The things I say will soon make you swoon. I'll point to the sun and say it's the moon.
I suppose love lives in a dustbin behind the garden wall. You have to grovel on the ground. And be pretty disgusting to find it at all. And I suppose that it grows on you.
So who was first? Obviously not me. She's locked up inside herself. And I can't get anything free. So won't somebody tell me please. Why the former owner always keeps the keys?.
The world and the surrounding stars. Might change completely in the space of an hour. But not an eclipse of the sky nor a colliding car. Will turn me back now that I've come this far.
Making your way through an orangepeel orchard. Tracing your day from disillusioned to debauched. And spring passed quickly below the rotten elm tree. You weren't kissed there you were pissed in the lavatory.
All day long, sweeping up the dead pigeons. From the pavement after the long dim dawn. He remembered how she pulled him. From disaster into laughter. .