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There's a picture of his first wife on the wall. Stripped floorboards in the kitchen and the hall. A stain from last week's party on the stairs, But no one knows who made it or how it ever got there. They were dancing with children round their necks, Talking business, books and records, art and sex. All things being considered you'd call it a success. You wore your black dress. Oh, he's an architect and such a lovely guy And he'll stay with you until the day you die. And he'll give you everything that you desire, Oh well, almost everything; Everything that he can buy. So you sometimes go out in the afternoon, Spend an hour with your lover in his bedroom. Hearing old women rolling trolleys down the road, Back to Lyndhurst Grove. Lyndhurst Grove. Oh. |