Woke up one weekend, took a long look in the mirror.
Aging eyes and smoking skin from some kind of abuse.
My whole soul was screaming out for some kind of nutrition
So who was I kidding, with those thoughts of loving you?

I've got nothing more than lips and legs for loving
And they don't look like they used to.
But I'm not going to waste my shit on you. 

I've got a garden, in my mind, for someone special.
I take the weeds out now and then, when I think to.
Once in a while I think I'll take somebody walking,
But I won't waste my good old blood and bone on you.

I've got nothing more than lips and legs for loving
And they don't look like they used to.
But I'm not going to waste my shit on you. 

I'm not so hard
or so soft 
for desperation.
I'm not so found 
or so lost 
that I wouldn't try it out.
But your holding
of sometimes warm 
and sometimes cold is
not my idea of fun and games 
and rolling round with you

I've god a bed full of love and compromises.
I've got a head full of pornographic blue.
I've got a hand that is full and one that's empty
But better empty-handed than full of part of you.

I've got nothing more than lips and legs for loving
And they don't look like they used to.
But I'm not going to waste my shit on you. 
I've got an arse that's growing bigger by the minute.
One day they'll put it in the zoo!
But it's coming nowhere close to you.

 

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