You’re such a fugitive, but you don’t know what you’re running from.

The nights were mainly made for saying things you can’t say tomorrow day.

Oh, there ain’t no love, no Montagues or CapuletsJust banging tunes and DJ setsAnd dirty dancefloors and dreams of naughtinessI Bet that You Look Good on the Dancefloor

You used to get it in your fishnetsNow you only get it in your nightdressDiscarded all the naughty nights for niceness……Remeber when the boys were all electric?

You’re rarer than a can of Dandelion & BurdockAnd those other girls are just post-mix lemonade

In my imagination you’re waiting lying on your side with your hands between your thighs.

I doubt it is your styleNot to get what you set out to acquireThe eyes are on fireYou are the unforecasted stormBrianstorm