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When he moves I watch him from behindHe turns and laughter flickers in his eyesIntent and direct when he speaks, I watch his lipsAnd when he drives I love to watch his handWhite and smooth almost feminine, almost american, I have to watch him.(chorus)In his face age descends on youth, exaggeration on the truthHe caught me looking then but soon his eyes forgotAnd everything he seems to do reflects just another shade of blueI saw him searching into you and ached a whileI watch his lips caress the glass,His fingers stroke it's stem and passTo lift a cigarette at last, he dries his eyesFrom a shadow by the stairI watch as he weeps unawareThat I'm in awe of his despair, but I am there(chorus repeat)