The Function Of The Orgasm

White Town

It's half past eight, and I'm waiting



In a beautiful place



Anticipating everything we'll do



And all we'll say.



Till your father sees you again



Now I don't know just what you're doing



Is it me or him



That you're screwing?



But I don't care and you don't care



When you're here




Now the storm is here



I see you running



Your face full of tears.



So red and burning



And I can't work out



How you spend



Another day with him




Just say the word



You know I'll do it



I'm waiting for you



Just let me do it



And we can run away to another place.



Less full of fear.