�Beautiful Thing�

Heat from an English Summer
Thunder just along the way
The YMCA bedroom window is wide open
So that you can soon smell the rain

I guess if this is the depths
Then I’m down there too
And if this is the dumps
Then I want to be the worst here with you…

With hundreds of vending machine coffee cups
That still stain ring shapes on the draining board
And all of the fluff that collects on the needle
As the bass thuds through dust mite floors

Every turntable spin quick flips my aching stomach
And dries cough hard down deep in my gullet
Each jump repeats that worn out obvious verse
Smashing precise into the room and all truths have suddenly surfaced
I never wanted to feel terrible while looking for love in this town
I still feel ill, but look at what I’ve found.