3WW
There was a wayward ladStepped out one morningThe ground to be his bedThe sky his awning
Neon, neon, neonA blue neon lamp in a midnight country fieldCows surround so you lean on, lean onSo much your hugs become hold ons
Oh, these three worn wordsOh, that we whisperLike the rubbing handsOf tourists in VeronaI just want to love you in my own language
Well, that smell of sexGood like burning woodThe wayward lad lay claimTo two thirsty girls from HornseaWho left a note when dawn came
Girls from the pool say 'Hi' (Hi!)The road erodes at five feet per yearAlong England's east coastlineWas this your first time?Love is just a button we pressedLast night by the camp fire
Oh, these three worn wordsOh, that we whisperLike the rubbing handsOf tourists in VeronaI just want to love you in my own language