We'll plan to meet,
|
At your parent's residence,
|
I'll let my love for lechery,
|
Take over me, and all my
|
actions and all my words,
|
But they so seldom occur,
|
Lock the doors, turn the music loud,
|
Till our eardrums blow out,
|
|
We'll create a buzz,
|
So much,
|
All the neighborhood will come by,
|
Cause all we are,
|
|
Two kids, with two tin cans,
|
Connected by old strings,
|
On our rooftops taking messages,
|
So tell a good story,
|
To my answering machine,
|
Oh! How heartless I can be,
|
|
I'm the one who's been calling you up,
|
Late at night,
|
To make sure that you're sleeping sounds and tight,
|
So just hold your pride,
|
Like you held your breath,
|
Waiting for the telephone to ring,
|
But your lungs are empty
|
and your hips are motionless.
|
|
-----------------
|
Where The Tabloids Won't Find Us
|
| Southcott |
