| And at Goose Fair on the waltzers
|
| And the big wheel in your kitchen in the greenhouse in my garden
|
| Dozing in the giant pillow of a bouncy castle
|
| With Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel
|
| Halfway down to Blackpool Tower
|
| These words have filled my finest hours
|
| Like a bottle of milk they soured
|
| And I’m wondering tonight
|
| Wondering tonight
|
| If your skin is still as thin
|
| As it was those mornings
|
| We were sieved together and fried in pans
|
| And on your make-up stand it said my number in red
|
| But you had filled your net
|
| Sending off your kids like crows
|
| Still, in Wymeswold at the end of the summer
|
| I could smoke one off the end of another
|
| And I could say the right thing and piss off your mother
|
| Who you never really cared for
|
| But now I’m wondering tonight
|
| Wondering tonight
|
| If your skin is still as thin
|
| As it was those mornings anyway…
|
| Anyway!
|
| Anyway!
|
| Anyway!
|
| Anyway!
|
| Well there is light in any one of these tunnels
|
| Spurting up the stained funnel
|
| Of your Italian ex-boyfriend's coffee machine
|
| Which I stole when he left for Bologna
|
| And when I burnt my finger on it
|
| It’s like he came back and bit me for it
|
| And you got cystitis didn’t you
|
| Didn’t you then
|
| With no purpose but to work
|
| And feel physical in nylon
|
| With the chocolate we survived on
|
| (The chocolate we dined on!)
|
| Melting in its plastic wrapper packet (in your pocket!)
|
| You crawled eight-legged down the drive
|
| And I’m wondering tonight
|
| Wondering tonight
|
| If your skin is still as thin
|
| As it was those mornings anyway…
|
| Anyway!
|
| Anyway!
|
| Anyway!
|
| Anyway? |
| Anyway…
|
| Well the words that we spoke in the bar in the car
|
| And at Goose Fair on the waltzers
|
| And the big wheel in your kitchen in the greenhouse in my garden
|
| Dozing in the giant pillow of a bouncy castle
|
| With Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel
|
| Halfway down to Blackpool Tower
|
| These words have filled my finest hours
|
| Like a bottle of milk they soured |