Lyrics

1 The models walk, high-heeled as curlews stalking a narrow shore. We watch, spectators at a slow-motion tennis match, as they turn, flex the featherless wings of their shoulders and slip between the curtains, leaving the crocodile pit of cameras flashing their teeth for more. II I leave you sitting to the mirror like a pianist to the piano, lifting the mascara brush to paint your lashes from fine to bold. Pulling the door on this scene I walk down the corridor to wait in the bar for you to join me. And when you do, it happens once more; The fall of the dress, the jewellery, early stars against the dusk of your skin, all of it leaves me surrendered, if just for a second, as you walk in, to the spell, the artful hocus-pocus, and to you standing there one shoulder bare, setting the room about you out of focus.