Now this one’s really caught between two worlds, I think, ‘cos it’s kind of serious, and yet the subject matter is thoroughly stupid. It’s a one-note joke, except it’s not really a joke at all. Confused? I am. I like the lyric, though, and the fake pedal-steel. It’s yet to find an album.


There’s a time of a Saturday evening when everyone splits up in pairs
And if nobody makes you an offer you might as well make yourself scarce
So I stumble the city in darkness
‘Til something inside of me gives
When my eyes and my feet get a lock on the street where she lives

I know it’s destructive and stupid; she doesn’t respect me at all
But at midnight she seems like an angel, I bend to her clarion call
And her face shows temptation and promise
That I know it won’t ever fulfil

    but I’ll be drunk and unsteady and ready to spill
    and her beautiful beacon will weaken my will
    and I curse her unholy control over me
    but I’m lost to the heat of my sweet bainmarie

I know what it is to be scrambled, I know how it feels to be fried
To be wet with the sweat of regret and yet totally dried up inside
And I know it’s a curse and a sickness
That I should be more willing to fight
But my feet and my guts will but me no buts in the night

So I spend every Sunday in sorrow – I tumble back out of the clutch
And the memories flood in to tease me – her hard body hot to the touch
And my craven contemptible weakness
The desire that I cannot deter

    for when the lights and the cars and the stars are a blur
    then my need and my greed seem to lead me to her
    and inside I’m condemning the lemming in me
    but I run to the edge of her ledge and I’m free

    and I fall at the feet
    ‘cos I’m lost in the heat
    yes, I fall at the stainless-steel feet of my sweet bainmarie

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