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(difford/tilbrook) |
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She's not a picture above somebody's fire |
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She sits in a towel with a purple hair dryer, |
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She waits to get even with me. |
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She hooks up her cupcakes and puts on her jumper |
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Explains that she'll be late to a worrying mother, |
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She meets me in piccadilly. |
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A begging folk singer stands tall by the entrance |
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His song relays worlds of most good intentions, |
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A fiver a ten p in his hat for collection. |
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She talks about office she talks about dresses |
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She's seen one she fancies her smile is impressing, |
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So maybe i'll treat her someday. |
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We queue among strangers and strange conversation |
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Love's on the lips of all forms of engagements, |
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All queuing to see tonight's play. |
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A man behind me talks to his young lady |
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He's happy that she is expecting his baby, |
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His wife won't be pleased but she's not been round lately. |
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The girl was so dreadful we left in a hurry |
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We escaped in the rain for an indian curry, |
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At the candle lit taj mahal. |
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My lips to a napkin i called for a taxi |
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The invite of eyes made it tense but relaxed me, |
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My mind took a devious role. |
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The cab took us home through a night i'd not noticed |
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The neon club lights of adult films and trini lopez, |
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My arm around love but my acting was her best. |
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We crept like two thieves from the kettle to the fire |
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We kissed to the sound of the silence that we'd hired, |
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Now captured, your love in my arms. |
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A door opened slightly a voice spoke in worry |
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Mum went to bed without wind of the curry, |
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Our secret love made its advance. |
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Like adam and eve we took bite on the apple |
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Loose change in my pocket it started to rattle, |
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Heart like a gun was just half of the battle. |
