Careful in the kitchen 
Says the man in red 
He knows exactly where to hang his head 
Someones in the bedroom 
Playing with the lamp 
Love is like her hair beneath the curtain soiled and damp 

Isn't she so beautiful 
In her baby blues 
I'll be over when i know 
That she's all over you 

I can hear the ticking 
Of the cuckoo clock 
I can see you hiding in the shadow of her locks 
She don't really love you 
She don't understand 
What she's got between the precious creases of her hands 

Life becomes the poet 
Messing with her words 
In the margin soft and blurred 
Time is my complexion 
Love is my parade 
Funny how the fiddler knows exactly when to play

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Saturday, March 24, 2001.