[Verse 1: The Wave Pictures] We ate toast cut roughly into halves With sour jam in an empty bar Large vases, filled with dead flowers And carved wood mirrors to show us our faces Blinking out sleep, unkempt, unshaved, unsound Round the back, slack-dressed, the chef lights a cigarette Late for his shift again [Chorus] Who are you to tell me that I look depressed? You wouldn't know it but I'm at my best I've got a little surprise up my sleeve I've got a little surprise up my sleeve I've got a little surprise up my sleeve [Verse 2: The Wave Pictures]
Shake open the pages, the yellowed slips of paper Flattened coffee stirrers, in the book on the table A ticket from the metro in Milan A letter from Simon in Prospect Park, Brooklyn One cigarette paper, torn magazine cover One leaflet for Jesus and one Hare Krishna All fall out onto the table [Chorus] Who are you to tell me that I look depressed? You wouldn't know me when I'm at my best I've got a little surprise up my sleeve I've got a little surprise up my sleeve I've got a little surprise up my sleeve