When they write the book of her life
Consulted pets confide that while the sun beat she would stay inside
Tearing out a new page every night
In Spetses of yore they'd have worshipped her like
A windswept night is worshipped in July
When they frame the petals that she plucked
And decorate the railway with her heart
Peace and quiet is all she asks for
What more could a girl want?
When they write some words about her life
They'll recite her verse about the starlight:
"Venus, you're alright
But looking up is less fashionable than looking to the side"
When they frame the petals that she plucked
And release her into the world
They'll decorate the railway with her heart
And release her back into the world
When they shoot the film of her life
They'll come to fight deciding how to condense a life
She's the Queen and they're the hive
She's on fire and they're just moths to her light
When they frame the petals that she plucked
And decorate the railway with her heart
Between her wits' end and the barrel of her tongue
She swallowed her pride and slept for a long, long time.
