THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
We sit in that dark, smokey room where you sometimes sleep. There's a Pulp record on and you stand close, leaning on the arm of the chair, smoke your three thousandth cigarette and sing into my ear,
There's a girl sitting next to me who's in love with you and she looks at me and says, 'How can you not be enjoying this? How can this not do it for you?'