In the painted faces congregate. In the mating season. The seconds homes. They go alone. . In no rush leave 'em. And there's a fountain. And a scimitar.
Well the morning was complete. And there was tears on the steering wheel, dripping on the seat. Several hours or several weeks. I'd have the to say they're equally as bleak.
"...pinned down by the dark...". . Been fighting with my sheets. And nearly crying in my sleep. Yes, I'm battling that well-taught gripe. The most restraining type.
Get on your dancing shoes. There's one thing on your mind. Hoping they're looking for you. Sure you'll be rummaging' through. . Oh! And the shit, shock, horror.
I heard the truth was built to bend. A mechanism to suspend the guilt. Is what you are requiring still. You've got to dance little liar. . Just like those fibs that pop and fizz.
Dancing Shoes - Cliff Richard. Released February 1963 UK. From movie Summer Holidays. . You must've heard of a-little Bo Peep. She was the gal with all the sheep.
Could have been a long hot summer night. When all the stars were shining bright. Against the blue. Could have been that famous decade scene. Top hats and tails, spinning 'round the room.