I thought it was you and your optimist's view of the clock. And how it's always another day. Just after twelve o'clock's struck. You said "Now I only want you so I don't have to promise". But tiny children in grown-up clothes whispered all the Crimes of Paris. Chorus: You're not the girl next-door or a girl from France. Or the cigarette-girl in the sizzle hot-pants. All the words of love seem cruel and crass. When you're tough and transparent as armoured glass. You're everywhere girl in an everyday mess. Who'll pay for the Crimes of Paris. I heard that you fell for the "Hell or to Hammersmith Blues". In the tiny torn up pieces of his mind he's irresistible too. Now it's hard to say now if he's only stupid or smart. When he crawled through the door. And poured out more of his creeping-Jesus heart. Chorus. And it's all here and now. She hit him with that paper-weight Eiffel Tower. And I tried to hold on to you but I don't know how. And I find it hard to swallow good advice. Like going down three times to only come up twice. She's so convenient he's always stiff as hair-lacquer. It's hard to discover now he's in love with her. It was her way of getting her own back. You never did anything she couldn't do on her own. You're as good as your word and that's no good to her. You'd better leave that kitten alone. Chorus.