Lyric Music To Hold Hands To

You can t keep a secret
But you keep a diary anyway
And you get away with murder
Because you ve got a way with words
Yeah, and I know where you keep it:
Under where your underwear is meant to be
But usually it s all over the floor
I can t see the carpet anymore

If you arose by any other name
You d smell as sweet
And you d look just the same

I could never understand you
Hating music to hold hands to
Sometimes something you can dance to
Is the last thing that you need
Yeah, and squandering a Sunday
On a 499-piece jigsaw puzzle
Doesn t trouble me one little bit
One little bit!

I feel like going visiting this evening
Across the rooftops of North Carlton
While the suburb is asleep
My friends live in renovators dreams
It s as euphemistic as it seems