It would be a perfect day
In our backyard
Were it not for the whiff of bin
I wonder whose it is? Not ours
Which lives around the front
Perfuming our neighbour’s boudoir
Because they leave their window
Open
we're all making our own sense of things
It would be a perfect day
In our backyard
Were it not for the whiff of bin
I wonder whose it is? Not ours
Which lives around the front
Perfuming our neighbour’s boudoir
Because they leave their window
Open