Had a northern lad,
not exactly had,
he moved like the sunset; God who painted that
First he loved my accent,
how his knees could bent
I thought we'd be okay,
me and my molasses.
But I feel something is wrong,
but I feel this cake just isn't done,
and don't say that you don't.
You don't show much these days.
It gets so fucking cold.
I loved his secret places,
but I can't go anymore.
"You change like sugar cane," says my northern lad.
Well, I guess you go too far when pianos try to be guitars.
I feel the west in you,
but I feel it falling apart, too.
Don't say that you don't.
And if you could see me now,
said if you could see me now,
girls you've got to know -
when it's time to turn the page
when your only wet, because of the rain.