Common Things

(альбом: Worhead - 2017)

When she first gave me coldsores
On a park bench in Walsall
I remember the feeling
As the last of the light
Dripped with might
From the palms of the evening
Like a psalm on the ceiling
Of her home, of her home

I love those common things I do with her
TV at six o'clock is de rigueur
Don't need to fall apart to works of art
Don't speak no Portuguese in the dark

And we can't be romantic
Cos we don't live in France yet
Get our kicks from the frantic
Little movements of feet
As I gallivant she keeps an atlas
Sleeping under the mattress
So I'm home, so I'm home

Don't need to run along to Chittagong
Don't need to get to Delhi or Geelong
Don't need to throw a coin into a fountain
Don't need to digress in the Spanish Mountains
Don't need to trek from Santander to Bilbao
When I've got this better way to find out how
Cos I love those common things,
I love those common things,
I love those common things,
I love those common things.