His sweetheart lost her bearings
The girl with a Walkman drew him out of her room
I use that phrase advisedly
Very a**ured these bastions of middle cla**es
Sweet, wholesome, insecure all the same
That's bijou reparation
No time for a confirmatory phone call
So no sweetheart destination in mind
Waiting is a whole new life time
But repetition does become intimate
What have they done to me?
There's separate places in all innocent cultures
A new language, a new science
Curiosity that derives from separation
That fascination at other people's lives
Secrets, sleepless
I wonder no one would like these
Abstract qualities to bound her
But no one's going to rescue her
Beside a map of Southern England
Two scuttle, an eagle eye
Trying to escape their destination