it'd make sense i would swear.

we dance like undead pagans under suburban street lamps
singing songs from rat pack days we know we can't get back
we're dreaming steamy scenes from night time outside streets
and when i hear those lovely love songs i guess i kind of want to scream

and the thought police are scared to see what's inside your mind

and it's only when i wake up i remember you're not mine.

and when there's not enough rain and we get just a mist

we like to strip down to our lingerie and play around in it.

we dance like sleeping giants from underneath the sea
and the love songs come alive at night, i swear they're after me
and i guess it's okay and i guess i'm alright,
because i'll go to sleep and dream i have you here with me tonight.

the telescreens won't show the score because they know we know they cheat

and the product placement ad campaign sells Rockefeller jeans

and the war we fought was just a sort of tug a war of sorts

we didn't tear you up for anything, we tore you up for sport

we dance like ballroom angels full of vintage pinot noir
but we'll wake up in the morning and you'll not know who you are
we're dreaming screams from Hitchcock scenes and when you think you're free
the love song grabs a butcher knife and makes a mess of me