Pale,
Pubescent beasts
Roam through the streets
And coffee-shops.
Their prey
Gather in herds
Of stiff knee-length skirts
And white ankle-socks.
But while
They search for a mate
My type hibernate
In bedrooms above,
Composing their songs
Of love.

Young,
Uniformed minds
In uniformed lines
And uniform ties
Run round
With trousers on fire
And signs of desire
They cannot disguise
While I
Try to find words
As light as the birds
That circle above
To put in my songs
Of love.

Fate doesn’t hang on a wrong or right choice.
Fortune depends on the tone of your voice.

So sing
While you have time,
Let the sun shine
Down from above
And fill you with songs
Of love.

Fate doesn’t hang on a wrong or right choice.
Fortune depends on the tone of your voice.

So sing
So sing
While we still can,
While we still can,
While the sun hangs
While the sun hangs
High up above
High up above
Wonderful songs
Wonderful songs of
Of love,
Beautiful songs, Beautiful songs
Of love
Beautiful songs of love.