3WW

There was a wayward lad

Stepped out one morning

The ground to be his bed

The sky his awning

Neon, neon, neon

Blue neon lamp in a midnight country field

Can't surround, so you lean on, lean on

So much, your heart's become fond of this

Oh, these three worn words

Oh, let me whisper like the rubbing hands of tourists in Verona

I just want to love you in my own language

Well, that smell of sex, good, like burning wood

The wayward lad laid clean

To two busty girls from Hornsea

Who left a note in black ink

Girls from above say hi

The road erodes at five feet per year

Around England's east coastline

Was this your first time?

Love is just a button we pressed last night by the campfire

Oh, these three worn words

Oh, that we whisper like the rubbing hands of tourists in Verona

I just want to love you in my own language