Her silhouette is bleaker than a cigarette
|
On a tuesday morn when I feel humanity slip
|
From broken hands down to her hips
|
Realising lethargy in both her eyes
|
And as the sun emancipates the dawn
|
Her tanlines cackle with the power of the allegory.
|
|
For a man, he¡¯s deeper than the sundarbans
|
And the whistful way that he could hold her stare
|
Leaves heartache hanging in the swollen air
|
|
And as they fall apart in separate beds
|
He carves forever in the cheap wooden bedstead
|
|
Realise bitterness in both her eyes
|
And the way his words could strip
|
The walls she¡¯s climbing
|
|
[Chorus x3]
|
(Oh at the end oh no oh?)
|
I worry about the way she lay
|
(Oh at the end oh no oh?)
|
Too much worry, worry, worry, worry.
|
(repeat)
|
|
He holds her down, everything is anguish now
|
With the shallowness of every breath
|
He waits until she is bereft
|
|
Realise, nothing now in both her eyes
|
And the way his words have stripped
|
The walls she¡¯s climbing
|
|
[Chorus x4]
|
(Oh at the end oh no oh?)
|
I worry about the way she lay
|
(Oh at the end oh no oh?)
|
Too much worry, worry, worry, worry.
|
(repeat)
|
|
-----------------
|
Worry
|
| Little Comets |
