It’s the midas palm
that everyone wants
It’s unwaning love
that’s nearly gone

It’s the turin shroud
for wiping up
it’s a brit abroad
deriding sun

And bouyant hearts still drown
and true love makes no sound
until the salts of a siren bring you round

She won’t exhibit much
but it’s in the room
you boxed it in
and called it gloom

slowly broke her down
blind, drunk cheating clown
but then the jet stream of a siren brings you round

it must’ve been love I hid from you
it must’ve been love you’re hiding too…