I suppose love lives in a dustbin behind the garden wall
You have to grovel on the ground and be pretty disgusting
to find it at all
And I suppose that it grows on you
Standing there with no clothes on,
and I suppose because there's beautiful girls in this town
I'll stay here till I've chosen one.
I suppose life's like a hunt, really: the hounds have fun
until the fox gets bagged
And not one girl in this town will ever fall in love with me:
They'll get dragged.

Her heart speaks to me; says *ba-room, ba-room, ba-room*
beneath her dress, and I suppose that it beats for me
Like a hammering moon pulling tides through her chest
Suppose she says that she owes me
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all that she owns and all that she is
It seems to me I suppose that her heart's not enough
and her love is a swizz.

So suppose love lives in a mansion
how the hell do I get over the wall?
And if my rope's not stretched the right tension
I won't cross this grand canyon at all.
And I suppose that it grows like a tumor, spreads like a rumor
like the grass grows and inch every day
And I suppose that before I even know it, the tide will start flowing
and the drum beneath my jacket will say:

You know you need her everyday
She is the moon and she showed me her face
She is the house and she opened the gates

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