(Steve Nieve/Elvis Costello)
|
Obscure the late afternoon with a drape
|
Don't let him follow her latest escape
|
Or the fanfare of taxis that needlessly played
|
As a forty watt bulb burns a hole in the shade
|
Then they got into a passionate fight
|
Now she's lost in the shadows thrown over at twilight
|
|
At the Empire Hotel they first came face to face
|
Pieces would fall off all over the place
|
And there in the debris they'd laugh and recline
|
Tell me my dear are you more or less mine
|
|
Then they got into a passionate fight
|
She says now this isn't love it's what you do in spite of it
|
And I can't go on with it night after night after night
|
Camphor and cigarettes perfume the scandal
|
Now he's counting the hinges and watching the door handle
|
As he hangs the clothes on the back of the door
|
Perfectly matching outfits that she wore
|
|
Women come quietly and some remain with their pity
|
But others know the pain of the passion of fight
|
Though the chance they will win is impossibly slight
|
He cowers before them so invitingly
|
And in the long run they'll be chastised and hated
|
Or walk out frustrated or humiliated
|
That is the pointless delight of a passionate fight
|
|
This isn't love what you do in spite of it
|
I can't go on night after night after night after night after night after night...
|
|
-----------------
|
Passionate Fight
|
Elvis Costello |