We talk about each other 
On our wrap around couch, 
And live out all the romance 
In our little town house. 
I never fit the shower 
And she never sews the threads, 
And so we find our feelings 
In other people's beds. 
And if the grass seems greener, 
But it turns out to be blue 
The garden of Eden isn't quite the place for you. 
Don't be surprised if I'm gone under the spell, 
Of some other witches' wand 
Ringing someone else's bell. 

Meeting on the motorway 
Your lover boy blue, 
Steaming up the windows 
With your last breath of youth. 
Don't you think I see it 
Your handbag's full of notes, 
I'm feeling like the punch line 
In someone's private joke. 

Our eyes don't seem to contact 
Never much to say, 
Except perhaps excuse me 
Or pass me the ashtray. 
I see him waiting for you 
As you go off to work, 
I'm left to draw conclusions 
While I button up my shirt.