A Broken Tenor

Red. Blue. Where are you tonight, you say everything just right everything's just right. I live on a dead end street where men and women meet. The countries really far from me. Where the seasons get universal. Yeah, the seasons get universal why are you still surprised by a quart of gin and a quarter scotch, a quiet airplane and a half-hour off the clock. Where are you? Your hair knows. Your hair knows the top of your T-shirt and your back was up in arms about it. But I'm not as good as the inner states are; I can't take you that far. To a polish town in German tongues and in time with Irish rounds he thinks every Russian girl is you. Did he hear? He didn't hear here.