Pale, pubescent beasts Roam through the streets And coffee-shops. Their prey gather in herds Of stiff knee-length skirts And white ankle-socks. But while they search for a mate My type hibernate In bedrooms above Composing their songs of love.
Young, uniform minds In uniform lines And uniform ties Run 'round With trousers on fire And signs of desire They cannot disguise While I try to find words As light as the birds That circle above To put in my songs of love.
Fate doesn't hang on a wrong or right choice. Fortune depends on the tone of your voice. So sing while you have time, Let the sun shine down from above And fill you with songs of love.
Fate doesn't hang on a wrong or right choice. Fortune depends on the tone of your voice. So let's sing while we still can While the sun hangs high up above Wonderful songs of love, Beautiful songs of love.