Darling,
I'm with St Bernards and we are scouring the Alps and the Andes.
If they die then it is on my head.
They followed paw prints in the snow to my throne,
To my bed.
You're pouting in your sleep,
I'm waking still yawning,
We're proving to eachother that Romance Is Boring.
Sure there are things I could do if I was half prepared to prove to Eachother that Romance Is Boring.
Start as you mean to continue;
Complacent and self involved.
You're trying not to be nervous,
If you are trying at all.
I will wait,
I will bake phallic cake,
Take your diffidence make it my club house.
But my strength's within lies,
Ventricle cauterised,
It's the way of living that I espouse.
You're pouting in your sleep,
I'm waking still yawning,
We're proving to eachother that Romance Is Boring.
Sure there are things I could do if I was half prepared to prove to Eachother that Romance Is Boring.
We are two ships that pass in the night;
You and I,
We are nothing alike.
I am a pleasure cruise,
You are gone out to trawl.
Return nets empty,
Nothing there at all.
You're pouting in your sleep,
I'm waking still yawning,
We're proving to eachother that Romance Is Boring.
Sure there are things I could do if I was half prepared to prove to Eachother that Romance Is Boring.
Writer(s): Gareth Paisey, Thomas Bromley
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