Ballad of the Barrel Organist

Don’t stop the night, we dash to this flat
And again for the first time strip off our wet clothes
Stop the night, the lovers' sixth sense
Instinctively tells us another is close
Don’t stop the night, we peel back the sheets
And glimpse the life history lying underneath in stark relief
Stop the night, of the creak in the boards
The creak that forebodes the voyeur and the Christmas thief
Make the night we first made love come again
Don’t stop the night of the whispering tale
Of your crazy old flame with his heart palpitations and crisp physique
Stop the night of this pain in my neck
That wrecks any chance of a semi-acceptable sexual technique
Make the night we first made love come again
The night we first made love at gunpoint
For this uninvited, unrequited, undelighted, uninspired
Missionary, visionary, mercenary, «stick it up or I fire!»
Little boy lost down memory lane — ex-lover
Show me the night the skeleton came
Out of the closet and under the light feeling very much alive
Show me the night, naked and pink, negotiating a hot malt milk
We’re praying the old lady who keeps a spare key will suddenly arrive
Make the night we first made love come again
The night we first made love at gunpoint
We swallow our pride and catch our breath
We swallow our breath and catch a sigh
We swallow a spy to watch our death
Out of the corner of your eye
Little boy lost down memory lane
Your coppertone, scatterbrain, crack shot crank
Exasperated, lacerated, copy-cat clerk from Barclay’s Bank
Little boy lost down memory lane
Lover, perhaps we’ll die
Perhaps we’ll die
Perhaps we’ll die