Fantasy

MARTIN IVESON, SARAH JANE MORRIS

I had a chance to glance in another direction
When I turned around
He was gone
Black Kashmir jumper draped over his shoulder
The way he lit his cigarette, the way he shook his match

Always on his handy boy, god the way he smoked
I just knew the kind of discrete dirty jokes he'd go for
The way he held, way he held
It's the way held his cigarettes

Flustered by phones of ringing
Dirty white vans keep passing
Thunder rolling lighting flashing
Then a shot of sunlight frames him, am I starstruck?

The way his hair was tied back, jet black, blackest of black
The way he rolled downhill, the crucifix was resting on his soul

Flustered by phones of ringing
Dirty white vans keep passing
Thunder rolling lighting flashing
Then a shot of sunlight frames him, am I starstruck?

Flustered by the falls of rain
Dirty white vans keep passing
Thunder rolling lighting flashing
Then a shot of sunlight frames him, am I starstruck?

Chasing my security
He can not eternity
To the land I can go free
Here I go again

Chasing my security
He can not eternity
To the land I can go free
Here I go again
Toying with my fantasy
Gambling with my sanity

Chasing my security
Here I go again
Toying with my fantasy
Gambling with my sanity

Chasing my security
Here I go again

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