| So this is where he came to hide
|
| When he ran from you
|
| In a private detective’s overcoat
|
| And dirty dead man’s shoes
|
| The pretty things of Knightsbridge
|
| Lying for a minister of state
|
| Is a far cry from the nod and wink
|
| Here at traitor’s gate
|
| Because the high heel he used to be has been ground down
|
| And he listens for the footsteps that would follow him around
|
| To murder my love is a crime
|
| But will you still love a man out of time?
|
| There’s a tuppeny hapenny millionaire
|
| Looking for a fourpenny one
|
| With a tight grip on the short hairs
|
| Of the public imagination
|
| But for his private wife and kids somehow
|
| Real life becomes a rumor
|
| Days of Dutch courage
|
| Just three French letters and a German sense of humor
|
| He’s got a mind like a sewer and a heart like a fridge
|
| He stands to be insulted and he pays for the privilege
|
| To murder my love is a crime
|
| But will you still love a man out of time?
|
| The biggest wheels of industry
|
| Retire sharp and short
|
| And the after dinner overtures
|
| Are nothing but an after thought
|
| Somebody’s creeping in the kitchen
|
| There’s a reputation to be made
|
| Whose nerves are always on a knife’s edge
|
| Who’s up late polishing the blade
|
| Love is always scarpering or cowering or fawning
|
| You drink yourself insensitive and hate yourself in the morning
|
| To murder my love is a crime
|
| But will you still love a man out of time?
|
| Will you still love a man out of time?
|
| Will you still love a man out of time? |