Stolen away in the crook of an arm,
By the sleight of a hand on a lawless bed,
In a bullion dream that you spun out of straw,
Where a golden heart could be easily led.
Mine led to you: your impossible temper,
Your kisses so tender, your laughter like sin.
And I cut my teeth on the blade of your shoulder
As you bowled me over and over again.
But I can’t sing the blues of your eyes
I don’t hold the key to one lock of your hair
No, I can’t sing the blues of your eyes
And what’s behind those lies: that’s your affair.
I’ve been spelunking and diving in search of
The cave where your heart goes when you fall asleep.
Don’t you get lonely down there in the shadows
With all of the secrets you’re trying to keep?
Typical me, indiscriminate giver,
To drink from the muddiest river around!
I’ve cried you an ocean of selfless devotion
And still I’m the likeliest sailor to drown.
‘Cos I can’t sing the blues of your eyes
I don’t hold the key to one lock of your hair
There’s no part of you that is truly mine,
And nothing in your heart you want to share.
(INSTRUMENTAL)
I can’t sing the blues of your eyes
I don’t hold the key to one lock of your hair
No, I can’t sing the blues of your eyes
And what’s behind those lies,
That indelible disguise,
Whatever hides in there: that’s your affair.
All words and music © Fran Smith 2010 (PRS)