I'm late again, I hope that she won't be too cold,
sitting on her ornamental wall.
and when I'm late she doesn't care,
she's absolutely maybe there
a contradiction asking her to call
Calling from the memories of a child she left behind,
a playground full of tacky clubs and bars.
Entertaining lookers-on with side-shows from her mind,
but then it doesn't take a mind to see,
the girl was you, the child was me.
In a certain situation,
with a certain fascination,
when I look at you, I ask the question why,
when I'm talking to myself I have to lie.
She keeps a note of people who look out for her,
and maybe from her book she lost a page.
A drink or two before she picks the phone up
for the evening,
and then begins the self destructive stage.
Picking fights and arguments with strangers at the door,
good arguments these days are hard to find.
Angry at herself and then unable to unwind
so she tries to call him late at night,
for everything to be all right.
In a certain situation,
with a certain fascination,
when I look at you, I ask the question why,
when I'm talking to myself I have to lie.
People say, you like to play,
you flirt with danger everyday.
Your only thought is keeping up with time.
They could be right, they could be wrong.
They could be jealous all along,
and maybe there's a place in time,
where you feel good and I feel fine.
In a certain situation,
with a certain fascination,
when I look at you, I ask the question why,
when I'm talking to myself I have to lie.