Budapest

Thank you for the trains and the planes
And the aches and the pains

Budapest
Thank you for the times and the rhymes
As I walk through your grimes
With your fines for their crimes
When you're near me
And I feel you

In your teeth, in your grip
Underneath, where you rip
Out my heart
But we can't part

For the art, of the part
When you start the apple cart
Down the the hill
But you spill

All the beans, at the seams
And the teams of the queens
When they drag you,
And try to bag you

But don't make out
Like its the end
When you have friends
Who will fend
Off the wolves

Or when you solve
And revolve
All the bowls with their holes
Where the water runs
And I see you when you love
With the kid-glove

Of your youth
But the proof
Of the pudding is in the eating
And no cheating