Mystery
Matthew Maltese
All of them
Dreaming strange inventions in the shade
Thirty mile an hour domestic winds
Blow away my nice domestic things
The ground is full of improbable vegetation
Black and heavy branches cut the sky
Mechanisms work behind my eyes
What a mystery (mystery)
That I could want you still
It's a mystery (mystery)
That I would pick you ten out of nine times
The water's cold
All the red fish leave my feet alone
Crush of people walk along the street
The perfume they wear smells good to me
And what a mystery (mystery)
That I could want you still
It's a mystery (mystery)
That I would pick you ten out of nine times