Mystery (quiet)

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