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It was summer when she moved in |
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And it was winter when she moved out again |
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And the sky was usually blue |
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And the single bed was big enough for two |
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It's funny the things that stay with you |
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Her jewellery on the table and the smell of her perfume |
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The candle wax on the carpet, singing in the supermarket |
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And the wall paper in her bedroom |
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I'll never understand how it happened like this |
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I drew an open hand and she drew a fist |
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I drew an arrow and a heart, she drew a razor and a wrist |
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She said 'I love you when it's sunny' |
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But the sun refused to shine |
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And I was crucified on the clothes line |
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She stole a magazine from the laundromat |
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Did it weigh upon her conscience as it lay upon her lap |
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The body is willing but the mind is weak |
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The champagne is chilling and the wine is cheap |
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The milk was always spilling and we cried ourselves to sleep |
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It was summer when she moved in |
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And it was winter when she moved house again |
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The boxes on the floor |
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And the note that she pinned to my door |
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This house is made of sticks |
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This house is made of straw |
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This house is made of bricks |
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This house is made of weatherboard |
