He was walking round to you, one sad French afternoon, so he caught into a shop or two.
He bought himself a nice drink, a totally tropical nice drink.
Then he saw what he thought was you in a room.
He thought about going over, but you were always much older.
And your *** dress impressed you.
They really liked to get it together before the twelfth of never.
So he's coming over.
It's when all the faces come around to close you in.
A *** lover to me.
For the time, and the touch, and everything.
I was locked and molded, so that his top rim touched on his shoulder.
Lying eyes, under skies, killed for you.
Like to show you his t-shirts sometime.
Like to show you his minute headstand.
And against the open.
It's when all the faces come around to close you in.
A *** lover to me.
For the time, and the touch, and everything.
It's when all the faces come around to close you in.
A *** lover to me.
For the time, and the touch, and everything.
To me, to me, to me, to you.
To me, to me, to me, to you.
To me, to me, to me, to you.
To me, to me, to me, to you.
It's when all the faces come around
The clothes you wear, the *** you love
Is enough for the time
Out of touch, out of luck
It's when all the faces come around
The clothes you wear, the *** you love
Is enough for the time
Out of touch, out of luck
Out of luck
Out of touch, out of luck
Out of touch, out of luck