but to come right out and say 'em
would be rude and out of place
so I'll keep it to myself I guess
but it's written all across your face
burnt toast and offerings
that's what the morning brings
so here's to all the young boys,
to all the fair haired girls
who ran away on honeymoons,
whose pretty bed of roses
feels like a bed of coals
who sit at breakfast tables and
who had their dreams of love,
but now they're waking up
