She’s not a girl who misses much.

Do do do do do do do do 

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!

Mother Superior jump the gun!

Mother Superior jump the gun!

Mother Superior jump the gun!

Happiness is a warm gun

Happiness is a warm gun

When I hold you in my arms

And I feel my finger on your trigger

I know no one can do me no harm

Because happiness is a warm gun.

Yes it is.

Look around.