It's going to itch and burn and sting
You want to see what the scratching brings
The clock tells her that time is slipping
Minute hands and seconds sticking
There's something she might be missing
Weather 'round here chopping and changing
I went out walking
I spend my whole time running
Some days you wake up with her complaining
And when I touch you, you don't feel a thing
Six o'clock in the morning
You're the last to hear the warning
You gave me nothing
You're the real thing
Even better than the real thing
An empty glass, the lady sings
Eyes swollen like a bee sting
Said I gotta do something
About where we're going
You got to cry without weeping
Talk without speaking
USSR, GDR, London, New York, Peking
Like a song I have to sing
Like the words I have to bring
It's falling, it's falling
They're closed but I see something
Anything redeeming
Any worthwhile feeling
Is love like a tightrope, hanging from the ceiling
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Can't you see I'm bored??