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