Her hands were colder than an unfired.38
She kept a room somewhere in Notting Hill Gate
The last one down the 2nd floor hall
There's a print by Brenda York on the kitchen wall
And her neighbours rarely see her
But then they never really see themselves
Shes quite polite, never causes a stir
She's got lots of Cohen vinyl stacked on some shelves
I remember enquiring about where she came from'til she posed dressed only
In her shiny thigh highs
Dont be asking me questions, and Ill tell you no lies
The blinds are always down, or at least the curtains are drawn
Her closets full of clothes, some of which shes never worn
There's a skirt that was hand-stitched in Cape Town
And a Soviet Hotel Dressing Gown
Her head is always turned, when pictures are taken
And her hair style never stays the same
Her roots she has so long forsaken
And its always fashion that takes the blame
Most times my curiosity would be met with the same replyIf you don't ask
Me questions, why would I tell you lies
Theres a sundial in her lounge on a wedding kist
Thats right at least twice a day
She wears a watch on the bottom of her left wrist
Like a night nurse waiting for a chance to play
She has a tattoo in a place that mostly only lovers see
Theres a burn mark on her breast she got at Sicily
It's shaped like a tumbler in free fall
After a while you dont notice it at all
I was trying to find out her favourite song, 'til she said all musos must
Die, dont be asking me questions and I'll tell you no lies