Pardon my French, but deja vu's not the same as seeing you again. And you can call me anytime, but dial 011+. And don't be surprised if I answer in German.

Pardon the expression, but things have built up to a head. I went out looking for another and circled back to you instead. When later I thought to entwine my body with yours and yours with mine, I reached across the bed to the telephone and you weren't home.

Pardon the cliche, but I'm falling to bits. Pardon my French, I love you larger than a postcard, more than an envelope can hold, stuffed full. More than you know.

For too many days I've been licking these envelopes shut, now my tongue's swollen up.


Lyrics submitted by ml

Christopher Isherwood song meanings
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