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Wild Strawberries Grace Grace I think I met you on the seventeenth floor When I stood on Margot's window sill Or maybe it was in the Crimean war When I lost my middle finger I really don't love you It just looks that way Radio lover meets serial killer He says it's inevitable She says call me Grace I think I met you on the mental ward You watched me juggle my life Or maybe it was in some naphthalene story Roman candles and wine I think I met you on death row Somewhere in Louisiana Or maybe it was at Heathrow You were flying to Cancun I think I met you at Graceland National I was the one torching the bike Or maybe it was at the abattoir I was the one with the knife |
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