she's not a girl who misses much. she's well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand. like a lizard on a window pane. the man in the crowd with the multicoloured mirrors on his hobnail boots. lying with his eyes while his hands are busy. working overtime. a soap impression of his wife which he ate and donated to the National Trust.
I need a fix 'cause I'm going down. down to the bits that I left uptown
happiness is a warm gun. bang, bang, shoot, shoot!
when I hold you in my arms and when I feel my finger on your trigger I know nobody can do me no harm. because happiness is a warm gun, momma
well don't ya know that happiness is a warm gun, momma?
bang, bang, shoot, shoot!