3WW

There was a wayward lad

Stepped out one morning

The ground to be his bed

The sky his awning

Neon neon neon

A blue neon lamp in a midnight country field

Can't surround so you lean on lean on

So much your heart's become fond of this

Oh these three worn words

Oh let me whisper like the rubbing hands

Of tourists in Verona

I just want to love you in my own language

Well that smell of sex

Good like burning wood

The wayward lad laid claim

To two thirsty girls from Hornsea

Who left a note when dawn came

Girls from the pool say hi hi

The road erodes at five feet per year

Along England's east coastline

Was this your first time

Love is just a button we pressed

Last night by the campfire

Oh these three worn words

Oh that we whisper like the rubbing hands

Of tourists in Verona

I just want to love you in my own language