Pale, pubescent beasts
Roam through the streets
And coffee-shops.
Their prey gather in herds
Of stiff knee-length skirts
And white ankle-socks.
But while they search for a mate
My type hibernate
In bedrooms above [bad word] their songs of love.

Young, uniform minds
In uniform lines
And uniform ties [bad word] 'round
With trousers on fire
And signs of desire
They cannot disguise
While I try to find words
As light as the birds
That circle above
To put in my songs of love.

Fate doesn't hang on a wrong or right choice.
Fortune depends on the tone of your voice.
So sing while you have time,
Let the sun shine down from above
And fill you with songs of love.

Fate doesn't hang on a wrong or right choice.
Fortune depends on the tone of your voice.
So let's sing while we still can
While the sun hangs high up above
Wonderful songs of love,
Beautiful songs of love.