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She said |
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Come in my dear, |
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You're looking tired tonight. |
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Your bath is drawn, let me loosen your tie |
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And fix you your usual drink. |
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He settles back, |
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Takes a magazine, |
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Kicks off his shoes, as he studies the form |
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Of every appealing soubrette. |
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But where are the flowers that he used to bring? |
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Every endearing remark |
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Reminds her of passionarte promises, |
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That he only made in the dark. |
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In her bed, |
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She wants to shout at the back of his head |
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Look at me, look at me, look at me i'm afraid |
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See what it's come to, |
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I'm just your mistress and maid. |
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The wine is warm |
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But the dinner is cold. |
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The look in his eye tells her it won't be long |
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'till the girls on the page come to life. |
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And they'll get the flowers that he used to bring |
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With every endearing remark, |
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And all of the passionate promises |
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He'll never fulfil in the dark. |
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In their bed, |
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She wants to shout at the back of his head |
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Look at me, look at me, now that i'm not afraid. |
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See what it's come to, |
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I'm not your mistress and maid. |
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See what it's come to, |
|
I'm not your mistress annf maid. |
