Music To Hold Hands To

You can't keep a secret

But you keep a diary anyway

And you get away with murder

Because you've got a way with words

Yeah, and I know where you keep it:

Under where your underwear is meant to be

But usually it's all over the floor

I can't see the carpet anymore

If you arose by any other name

You'd smell as sweet

And you'd look just the same

I could never understand you

Hating music to hold hands to

Sometimes something you can dance to

Is the last thing that you need

Yeah, and squandering a Sunday

On a 499-piece jigsaw puzzle

Doesn't trouble me one little bit

One little bit!

I feel like going visiting this evening

Across the rooftops of North Carlton

While the suburb is asleep

My friends live in renovators' dreams

It's as euphemistic as it seems