Catholic karaoke with the mirror in your sights
Hymn sheets are provided so you better sing it right
Scarecrows at the ringside sick and tired of the road
Chained up to a haystack in the cold
He could be famous
A man of ambition
Counting the tiles on his knees in the kitchen
She could be blameless
Shaken and crooked
Driving away when the night wasn't looking
Write it in a bottle and leave it for the tide
Get yourself to bed for work and pray that it's alright
(you're only drawing in your sleep when you're running out of pencils)
He could be wasted framed without warning
Played for a fool on the edge of the morning
She could be stricken with devilish feelings
I know she's only alive in the evening
Maybe Monday
Maybe Sunday
Maybe someday
Maybe not
We could trade a scratch card for a sports car on a yacht
And she and I will celebrate on every 21st
With all the jagged edges we deserve