Pale, pubescent beasts
|
Roam through the streets
|
And coffee shops
|
Their prey gather in herds
|
Of stiff knee-length skirts
|
And white ankle-socks
|
But while they search for a mate
|
My type hibernate
|
In bedrooms above
|
Composing their songs of love
|
|
Young, uniform minds
|
In uniform lines
|
And uniform ties
|
Run 'round
|
With trousers on fire
|
And signs of desire
|
They cannot disguise
|
While I try to find words
|
As light as the birds
|
That circle above
|
To put in my songs of love
|
|
Fate doesn't hang on a wrong or right choice
|
Fortune depends on the tone of your voice
|
So sing while you have time
|
Let the sun shine down from above
|
And fill you with songs of love
|
|
Fate doesn't hang on a wrong or right choice
|
Fortune depends on the tone of your voice
|
So let's sing while we still can
|
While the sun hangs high up above
|
Wonderful songs of love
|
Beautiful songs of love
|
|
-----------------
|
Songs of Love (Divine Comedy)
|
| Ben Folds Five |
