My tongue is scaling the North face of your neck and we're glaring like warriors but I've a feeling you won't look at me that way in the morning Cos lately you seem less sur of this thing You're like Bambi on ice and there's something in the flash of your arms A certain longing Kick the can I can see you now behind that temper and ire Mr.Wolf knows what time it is He says it's dinner time I don't know what you're carrying or how your heart is wired but there's a dangerous ticking I'll cut the red one No, the blue one Raking over the embers and what I come across? Raking over the embers and what I come across? Is that you, combing your hair? Is that me, eating an egg? And are we there? Like John Boy said My tongue is scaling the North face of your neck and we're glaring like warriors But I've a feeling you won't looka t me in that way in the morning Is this how it goes in these final throes?