Casanova

I'm on the frontpage of a dirty magazine

Mr. January pumpkin carousing

Can't you see my face it's alive

Close the curtains

Flip the switch, make me happy

Baby, you're a bitch

Turn me on, turn me on, tonight

Casanova, do you love her

Now do you really think that you will find

That bit of self-esteem to push between her legs

And make her happy like you used to do

And the time when everything was simple

She was seventeen and you were twenty two

And it was summer

It was the summer when you ran away

From the traffic noise of screaming rubber ducks

And grieving wives on channel 45

When no one talks about the weather anymore

Casanova, you're getting older

Now the world is not for you to blame

It's just a movie rolling backwards

Randomly injecting choises that we call in vain

And the violence that you try to justify

Is not a language that I still contain

But in the summer

I will wrap you up in cellophane

And bury you under the pouring rain

'Cause no one talks about the weather anymore