Dirty Magazine

A cut-out picture of a sugar tart

With olive skin, a purple heart,

Concrete shoes, and it's just the start

Of bigger things unseen.

Heroes of our glory days

Ride upon the hip-hoorays

Of hometown girls who've been displayed

In dirty magazines.

"And what am I supposed to do with you?"

Just tell me everything I've heard before

Like it was news

The miners strike, hold out for love

We bust their heads, push and shove,

By helmet light, we rise above

And say, "look out below!"

They're such a grim, romantic crew,

Swear they won't forget but do,

It leaves them free to cry anew

At every song we know.

"And what am I supposed to do with you?"

Just tell me everything I want to hear

Like it was true

Sometimes I wish that I was king

And held the end of every string,

The fear, the prize, the mortal sting

Of what will come of this.

For now I'll let all chance unwind

To keep our secret hearts entwined,

And if I choose to see this as a ign

It surely is.

"And what am I supposed to do with you?"

Just tell me everything I've heard before

Like it was news