On promenades where drunks propose to lonely arcade mannequins
Where ceremonies pause at the jewelers shop display
Feigning casual silence in strained romantic interludes
Till they commit themselves to the muted journey home
And the pool player rests on another cue
Last nights hero picking up his dues
A honeymoon gambled on a ricochet
She's staring at the brochures at the holidays
Chalking up a name in your hometown
Standing all your mates to another round
Laughing at the world till the barman wipes away the warm wet circles
The warm wet circles

I saw teenage girls like gaudy moths
A classrooms shabby butterflies
Flirt in the glow of stranded telephone boxes;
Planning white lace weddings from smeared hearts and token proclamations,
Rolled from stolen lipsticks across the razored webs of glass
Sharing cigarettes with experience
With her giggling jealous confidantes,
She faithfully traces his name
With quick bitten fingernails
Through the tears of condensation
That'll cry through the night
As the glancing headlights of the last bus
Kiss adolescence goodbye

In a warm wet circle
Like a mothers kiss on your first broken heart,
A warm wet circle
Like a bullit hole in central park,
A warm wet circle
And I'll always surrender to the warm wet circles

She nervously undressed in the dancing beams of the fidra lighthouse
Giving it all away before it's too late
She'll let a lovers tongue move in a warm wet circle
Giving it all away and showing no shame
She'll take a mother's kiss on her first broken heart
A warm wet circle,
She'll realise that she played her part in a warm wet circle

Teenage war brides

It was a wedding ring,
Destined to be found in a cheap hotel
Lost in a kitchen sink or thrown in a wishing well


Lyrics submitted by Idan

Warm Wet Circles [Single Version] Lyrics as written by Ian Mosley Derek William Dick

Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

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Warm Wet Circles song meanings
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11 Comments

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  • 0
    General Comment

    I see this as the life on a local bar. The life of regular people in front of the writer. Warm wet circles are the marks of the glass on the table, beautiful metaphor! The writer ponders about his own struggles, including the addiction to alcohol. Love this hole album.

    tjansenon November 13, 2019   Link

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