Текст: Little Comets. Darling Alistair.

Two types of heartache blow my life into pieces,
The first is fiscal; the second does not bear repeating,
Say Darling Alistair,
Why?d your taxes remain way too taxing?
Is it not opportune to pose these questions?

Darling, are you on it?
Darling, are you popular?
We thought you were honest,
But you keep secrets in your refrac.

You have me vetted to another question-answer session,
Dressed-down, informal like,
But it still leaves the wrong impression,
Your fabric?s merging,
Urge you to break into something vibrant,
Instead your head drops dead with silence.

Darling, are you on it?
Darling, are you popular?
We thought you were honest,
But you keep secrets in your refrac.
Darling, you know this.
Darling, are you ill-defined?
Darling, are you honest?
From behind blacked-out windows of your car.

Excheque my broken heart,
Cancel cheques in the mail,
It?s like we just got started, Alistair.
Home-wrecker, duty bound,
Two take pence in the pound,
It?s like you just departed, Alistair.

Darling, are you on it?
Darling, are you popular?
We thought you were honest,
But you keep secrets in your refrac
Darling, you know this.
Darling, are you ill-defined?
Darling, are you honest?
From behind blacked-out windows of your car.

Darling, are you on it?
Darling, are you popular?
We thought you were honest,
But you keep secrets in your refrac
Darling, you know this.
Darling, are you ill-defined?
Darling, are you honest?
From behind blacked-out windows in your car.