Montague Terrace - Scott Walker

The little clock’s stopped ticking now

We’re swallowed in the stomached rue

The only sound to tear the night

Comes from the man upstairs

His bloated belching figure stomps

He may crash through the ceiling soon

The window sees trees cry from cold

And claw the moon

But we know don’t we And we’ll dream won’t we Of Montague Terrace in blue

The girl across the hall makes love

Her thoughts lay cold like shattered stone

Her thighs are full of tales to tell

Of all the nights she’s known

Your eyes ignite like cold blue fire

The scent of secrets everywhere

A fist filled with illusions

Clutches all our cares

But we know don’t we And we’ll dream won’t we Of Montague Terrace in blue oh in blue