There was a wayward lad, stepped out one morning
The ground to be his bed, the sky his awning
Neon, neon, neon
A blue neon lamp in a midnight country field
Cows surround so you lean on, lean on
So much your hugs become hold ons
Oh these three worn words
Oh oh-oh-oh, that we whisper
Like the rubbing hands of tourists in Verona
N.C. (Riff-1)
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Well that smell of sex, good like burning wood
The wayward lad lay claim
To two thirsty girls from Hornsea
Who left a note when morning came
Girls from the pool say 'hi' (hi)
The road erodes at five feet per year along England's east coastline
Was this your first time?
Love is just a button we pressed last night by the campfire
Oh these three worn words
Oh oh-oh-oh, that we whisper
Like the rubbing hands of tourists in Verona
N.C. (Riff-1)