We're deep in her diary now
|
a month for every kiss
|
and this passion-in-hours amounts
|
to little more than this
|
she keeps wisteria
|
I keep forgetting to die
|
|
We keep on getting there
|
sickly thug and I
|
she keeps a distance
|
I keep forgetting to die
|
we'll keep on getting there
|
sickly thug and me
|
she keeps wisteria
|
I keep turning to lapis lazuli
|
|
A pistol whipping wind
|
sickly thug and me
|
our hearts fire blanks
|
over the marshes
|
the River Lee
|
was there anything
|
really moving in the news tonight?
|
|
If there's no hope for us
|
there'll be no respite
|
just a drop or two
|
from a bottle of the widow's mite
|
we'll keep on getting there
|
I'll just happen to you
|
we'll be back from somewhere else
|
we'll never get to
|
|
Over here may be bad
|
realissimo bad
|
but that nameless other place
|
it's far far worse
|
I'm an innocent
|
I never resisted
|
alcohol and coloured beads
|
|
Broken sunshine swells
|
the length of Waltham beach
|
and nothing ever changes
|
and nothing ever lasts for long
|
it just stays out of reach
|
this feeling's mutual
|
for sickly thug and me
|
|
This feeling's mutual now
|
but so separately
|
we're burning up
|
we're collapsing into probability
|
and there's no hope for us
|
and there's no respite
|
just a drop or two
|
from a bottle of the widow's mite
|
|
-----------------
|
Sickly Thug & I
|
| Luxuria |
