Er þetta lagið?
A winter's night
the Northern Quay
the Isle of Dogs
the rabid one is me
you sip your drink
undismayed
and I just said
These days my heart seems to be a kind of hand grenade
Nothing in the air tugs at the tower blocks
as you raise your finger and pull the pin
nothing much on earth moves down these desolating docks
do you really think you just scratched your chin?
But you were never Albertine
and I was never poor Marcel
who were you that time round,
Mademoiselle?
Monsieur a peur du parfum des princesses
And now I act up
and you've a winning frown
I've contracted love
as I'm devoured down
blame my deadening intensity
and tell me how you got the part in this
my own illicit agony
I lay it on pretty thick
you spread yourself pretty thin
ducking and dividing under every skin
and my final words as you get up and leave
If you're free as air, I don't want to breathe
Good evening,
I am the madman in love with your daughter
we need to talk
just you and me
I saw her last in Eden
or some other Far Eastern quarter
where the river snakes its way out to sea
But you were never Albertine
and I was never poor Marcel
who were you that time round,
Mademoiselle?