You know my wandering days are over. Does that mean that I’m getting boring?. You tell me. I’m tired of listening to myself now. I’m tired of fixing things for michael and the rest of them. You know my bip-bopping days are over. I hung my boots up and then retired from the disco floor. Now the centre of my so called being is. The space between your bed and wardrobe with the louvre doors. I said my celibate days are over. You put me straight on the finer points of my speech rehearsed. In the mirror of my steamy bathroom. Where the lino tells a sorry story in a monologue. Six months on the winter’s gone. The disenchanted pony. Left the town with the circus boy. The circus boy got lonely. It’s summer and it’s sister song’s. Been written for the lonely. The circus boy is feeling melancholy. It’s got to be fate that’s doing it. A spooky witch in a sexy dress has been bugging me. With the story of the way it should be. With the story of sebastian and belle the singer. I said my one man band is over. I hit the drum for the final time and I walked away. I sew you in japanese restaurant. You were doing it for business men on the piano belle. You said it was a living hell. You said that it was hell.