All of them, dreaming strange inventions in the shade
30 mile-an-hour domestic winds
Blow away my nice domestic things
The ground is full of improbable vegetations
Black and heavy branches cut the sky
Mechanisms work behind my eyes
What a mystery that I could want you still
It's a mystery that I would pick you 10 out of 9 times
The water's cold
All the red fish leave my feet alone
Crush of people walk along the street
The perfume they wear smells good to me
And what a mystery that I could want you still
Such a mystery that I would pick you 10 out of 9 times
