I reorganised the diary,
I had pencilled in a window for us to meet,
though I knew that you'd be dancing to a different beat
when you showed up. I was ready
for whatever psychodrama you'd got in store
yeah we both knew thaty we'd been through this before..

Check the time and motion,
put a stopwatch on the story and don't look back
as we lock in to our repetitious act.

You're the eager beaver, keen to make a mark,
I'm a true believer, whistling in the dark,
building up the fever.

Over and over we go through the motions,
hold on the notion one day it might change.
Try not to show it but we're lost in the moment
meanwhile I try to hang on to the ghost of a chance,
falling through my fingers.

Season by season we seek an agreement
beyond rhyme and reason, however estranged.
Meeting and greeting, our time here is fleeting.
Meanwhile we wheel around in an impression of dance.
Falling through our fingers,
it's all falling through our fingers.

What d'you really want?
Dare you ever say
what you really want?
Watch it slip away....

And the moral of the story
if there's one at all is, surely, to get a grip
on what's forever falling through our fingers,
forever falling through our fingertips.

You're the eager beaver, keen to make a mark,
I'm a true believer, whistling in the dark.
What a pair of divas! What a pair of bright sparks!