Straight In At 101/It's Never Enough

I think we need more post-coital and less post-rock
Feels like the build-up takes forever, but you never get me off
You pull your dress over your face
And I stare down towards my chest
Chastise both our greasy hair, wonder whose gut is the softest
Stand with my ear to the door, listening to the landing floorboards
Working out when we’ll be safe
To dash from mattress to your bathroom
Where I ball my fingers into fists
Until my knuckles glow bright white
Press the heels into eye-sockets 'til I see the flashing lights
Stop me when my stories change
When they have started to repeat
'Cause last time I was a mess of sleep, of icy feet
So baby, all apologies
It was going to happen, inevitably, oh
I think we need more post-coital and less post-rock
Feels like the build-up takes forever but you never touch my cock
And what exactly do you mean now by, «What can you even eat?»
And how does that affect how I’ll get off this evening?
I flew down south to Mexico, had a minor realisation
I understood why kids draw the sun with its rays emanating
And the beams broke the clouds, the sky looked like a concertina
I’d sat on in my pocket for weeks, folded up from a picture
I’ve been playing Straight Chicken with gay girls, it’s never enough
She keeps on pulling the peace sign and it seems like a taunt
She licked a glaze on her lips, they shone like Battleship Grey
She never liked the wisdom I gave
«Some people give themselves to religion
Some people give themselves to a cause
Some people give themselves to a lover
I have to give myself to goals»
So baby, all apologies
It was going to happen, inevitably
And if it helps, I mean, even slightly at all
It’s best to dust yourself down and get straight back on the horse
I condescend a smile and wink directly at the camera
I leave you led in both our scents as I tiptoe out the backdoor
I skid down icy streets and view my face in the reflection
Of a High Street lingerie store though it wasn’t my intention
I phone my friends and family to gather 'round the television
The talking heads count down
The most heart-wrenching breakups of all time
Imagine the great sense of waste
The indignity, the embarrassment
When not a single one of that whole century was mine