Well they say that you are wise,
And good looking as the South,
That you walked a country mile,
Before you were a city girl,
You tell to me your tale,
But only when I’m gone,
A bag of contradictions,
A bag of nerves you are,
A bag of contradictions,
A bag of nerves you are.
I tell to you my tale,
And my story in my way,
And I watch you turn to stone,
Watch you disappear into the working day,
And I’ve seen what I should not
I’ve seen what I should not,
I’ve seen what I should not,
But I can’t help but watch,
As your golden dress comes down,
Like the Stanley Spencer painting,
Where the hearts on the stove are all upside-down,
It’s awkward but it’s mine,
It’s hidden but it’s obvious this time…
Walking alone by the sea-side,
I can smell the wood-smoke coming from a real fire,
And I know that you are well,
The clock ticks on my wrist,
A dog barks in the distance,
By the rocks that are covered up only when the tide if fully in,
Long live summertime,
I don’t want the wind to blow me,
From the family that I write to on the back of a postcard from the Norman Road sometimes,
I take a deep breath,
And I take a good look at my life,
And for the first time,
I don’t wanna be anywhere but here,
When your golden dress comes down,
Like a tribal mask across my mouth,
As I kneel down,
And loose myself in the moment,
God knows how,
And loose myself in the moment,
God knows how.
I tell to you my tale,
And my story in my way,
And I walked many a mile,
To stand with you today,
Well you’ve changed and so have I
But don’t let that get in the way,
You’re a bag of contradictions,
That’s what you used to say,
A bag of contradictions,
That’s what you used to say,
A bag of contradictions,
Let’s keep it that way.