(Brooker / Reid)

Your convent cloistered cluttered mind
Calls out for me, but I'm behind
An' cannot see into your room
Whose perfumed depths sing songs of gloom
And I am cold and cannot see a way out of this mystery

An Ali Baba you would be
In search of treasure endlessly
An' like some jewel you'd plunder me
And in some showcase I would be
And I am cold and cannot see a way out of this mystery

Wild horses could not change your mind
Or help you out an' let you find
That I am neither cold nor blind
That I have something left to find
And I am cold and cannot see a way out of this mystery

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