There`s a haze on the skyline, to wish me on my way.
And there`s a note on the telephone --- some roses on a
tray.
And the motorway`s stretching right out to us all,
as I pull on my old wings --- one white duck
on your wall.
Isn`t it just too damn real?
I`ll catch a ride on your violin --- strung upon your bow.
And I`ll float on your melody --- sing your chorus soft
and low.
There`s a picture-view postcard to say that I called.
You can see from the fireplace, one white duck
on your wall.
Isn`t it just too damn real?
So fly away Peter and fly away Paul --- from the
finger-tip ledge of contentment.
The long restless rustle of high-heeled boots calls.
And I`m probably bound to deceive you after all.
Something must be wrong with me and my brain ---
if I`m so patently unrewarding.
But my dreams are for dreaming and best left that
way --- and my zero to your power of ten equals
nothing at all.
There`s no double-lock defense; there`s no chain on my door.
I`m available for consultation,
But remember your way in is also my way out, and
love`s four-letter word is no compensation.
Well, I`m the Black Ace dog-handler: I`m a waiter on
skates --- so don`t you jump to your foreskin conclusion.
Because I`m up to my deaf ears in cold breakfast trays ---
to be cleared before I can dine on your sweet Sunday
lunch confusion.