(difford/tilbrook)



We talk about each other

On our wrap around couch,

And live out all the romance

In our little town house.

I never fit the shower

And she never sews the threads,

And so we find our feelings

In other people's beds.

And if the grass seems greener,

But it turns out to be blue

The garden of eden isn't quite the place for you.

Don't be surprised if i'm gone under the spell,

Of some other witches' wand

Ringing someone else's bell.



Meeting on the motorway

Your lover boy blue,

Steaming up the windows

With your last breath of youth.

Don't you think i see it

Your handbag's full of notes,

I'm feeling like the punch line

In someone's private joke.



Our eyes don't seem to contact

Never much to say,

Except perhaps excuse me

Or pass me the ashtray.

I see him waiting for you

As you go off to work,

I'm left to draw conclusions

While i button up my shirt.




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