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Come Into My Parlour

de Hotknives

Time waits for no man,
and for a woman, it won't stand still.
Swimming backwards in the tide of life
like a fool on the hill.
Waiting patiently by the phone that never rings.
Your heart is breaking every time Sinatra sings.
Close your eyes and try to dream of other things.

'C'est la vie' and 'come what may',
or whatever it is they say.
It's all in the rules of the game.

Abigail's singing softly,
at the usual rendezvous.
Seven twenty-five on the M16,
she knows just what to do.
Fingers glide across a shiny steering wheel.
Check the rear view mirror, hoping to appeal?
Write yourself a letter, asking how you feel?

'C'est la vie' and 'come what may',
or whatever it is they say.
It's all in the rules of the game.

Waiting patiently by the phone that never rings.
Your heart is breaking every time Sinatra sings.
Close your eyes and try to dream of other things.

'C'est la vie' and 'come what may',
or whatever it is they say.
It's all in the rules of the games that people play,
it's all in the rules of the game.

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