She's not a girl who misses much
She's well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand
Like a lizard on a window pane

The man in the crowd with the multicolored mirrors
On his hobnail boots
Lying with his eyes while his hands are busy
Working overtime
A soap impression of his wife which he ate
And donated to the National Trust

I need a fix 'cause I'm going down
Down to the bits that I left uptown
I need a fix 'cause I'm going down

Mother Superior jump the gun

Happiness is a warm gun

When I hold you in my arms
And I feel my finger on your trigger
I know that no body can do me no harm
Because h appiness is a warmgun
Yes it is

See also:
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