On promenades where drunks propose to lonely arcade mannequins |
| Where ceremonies pause at the jeweler's shop display |
| Feigning casual silence in strained romantic interludes |
| Till they commit themselves to the muted journey home |
And the pool player rests on another cue |
| Last nights hero picking up his dues |
| A honeymoon gambled on a ricochet |
| She's staring at the brochures at the holidays |
Chalking up a name in your hometown |
| Standing all your mates to another round |
| Laughing at the world till the barman wipes away the warm wet circles |
| The warm wet circles |
I saw teenage girls like gaudy moths |
| A classroom's shabby butterflies |
| Flirt in the glow of stranded telephone boxes |
| Planning white lace weddings from smeared hearts and token proclamations |
| Rolled from stolen lipsticks across the razored webs of glass |
| Sharing cigarettes with experience with her giggling jealous confidantes |
| She faithfully traces his name with quick bitten fingernails |
| Through the tears of condensation that'll cry through the night |
| As the glancing headlights of the last bus kiss adolescence goodbye |
| In a warm wet circle |
Like a mothers kiss on your first broken heart, a warm wet circle |
| Like a bullet hole in Central Park, a warm wet circle |
| And I'll always surrender to the warm wet circles |
She nervously undressed in the dancing beams of the Fidra lighthouse |
| Giving it all away before it's too late |
| She'll let a lovers tongue move in a warm wet circle |
| Giving it all away and showing no shame |
| She'll take a mother's kiss on her first broken heart a warm wet circle |
| She'll realise that she played her part in a warm wet circle |
It was a wedding ring |
| Destined to be found in a cheap hotel |
| Lost in a kitchen sink or thrown in a wishing well |