Hear silver trumpets will trill in the Arabic streets of Seville. Oranges roll in the gutter. And you pick them up. And peel back the skin. To the red fruit within. But the flavour is... Tart. And the flavour is.... Tart. Is it something you crave. And you say that you only feel bitterness. When you know it?s a lie lie lie?. Wild with a blackberry bush. there were blossoms of cherries to crush. There at the edge of the asphalt tempting fingertips. They stain your hands press too hard. They'll color your lips.... But the flavour is... Tart. And the flavour is.... Tart. Is it something you crave. 'Cos you say that you only feel bitterness. Would it kill you to show us a little sweetness?. Repeat chorus. Odd where nothing else grows. It was something like love that she chose. Always a creature of habit. When pity would do. She wore down that heel with no feeling. She kept on her shoes. Repeat chorus. Nylon was hung from a peg. And a kohl black seam ran down her leg. Fishermen look for their nets. And send their regrets. But the bug lay there broken. She spoke "Is this some kind of joke?". but the flavour is....