Oh you could be the next prime minister of my heart
You're the elected officials of the consciousness of love
And love is a policy which must tow the party line
Oh that thin thread between your heart and mine
Come muster your support, get the backings in the commons
Let the MPs of your Aorta call out in the chambers of belongings
And if you lost your heart in this election well why not try again
There will be another one coming and you'll be in the running my friend
I wrote down my constitution on the tissue paper of a lung
And blew it up like a balloon, so all the letters sung
And so enlarged was my chest, so courageous was my heart
But devious dealings and cowardice brought down my only art
For love is the exhibition, the portrait or the bust
Ex-rulers of love's country in a museum of lust
And sickness in love's hospitals where I spent my rest
Convalescing in love's company, or perhaps only its ghostliness
I sorted out my passport so I could cross love's borders
I had to escape my impasse, with my knights hauled up in corners
And their horses kicking around in one horse towns,
where none could find a drink,
well this town ain't big enough for the both of us
What the hell else did you think?
Love was what it ought to be, oh so long ago,
Just a wisp in the willows, just a twang of the bow
And yet it turned into a mist
That seeped amongst the shadows
And our boats they broke through the whiteness
On the way to marshy gallows
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