She makes me so unsure of myself Standing there but never talking sense Just a visitor you see So much wanting to be seen She'd open up the door and vaguely carry us away It's the customary thing to say or do To a disappointed proud man in his grief And on Fridays she'd be there And on Wednesday not at all Just casually appearing from the clock across the hall You're a ghost la la la You're a ghost I'm in the church and I've come To claim you with my iron drum La la la The Continent's just fallen in disgrace William William William Rogers put it in its place Blood and tears from old Japan Caravans and lots of jam and maids of honor Singing crying singing tediously Efficiency efficiency they say Get to know the date and tell the time of day As the crowds begin complaining How the Beaujolais is raining Down on darkened meetings on Champs Elysee
Written by: John Davies Cale
Lyrics © GARNANT MUSIC
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