She's in love with ideas, I'm in love when she cries, Her neck gently bending And shaping the night. The morning is begging us awake, Yet holding softer, She's the taste of a millionaire, And I've the wallet of a pauper.
You're downstairs and I'm here, Spinning clever fate in the dark, With the hate in your remarks When you've spoken only love, I'm praying for health And you're praying from above.