Middle of Nowhere Productions

The Let Song.

Let our cigarette ends lie still in our ash-trays

Let us curl up like their blue smoke under the lampshade

Let our love nights die out into endless foreplays

Let my lips turn to gold on your left shoulderblade

Let the foam of the coffee get dry in our mugs

Let us turn our backs to the buses and the workplace

Let the dust and the bugs pile up snug in our rugs

Let the fire turn to cold ashes in the fireplace

Let the spiders weave their nets in our bathtub

Let our bodies grow leaves like in a jungle

Let the bedroom be our one and only nightclub

Let us merge, let us scramble, please let us mingle

And make the long hours run too fast

Oh make the green one incarnadine

Please just make the two of us get bedfast

And make our death our only deadline