First and foremost, let it be said
I am writing this at 7: 10 am
On the hard dry tarmac of a vacant forecourt
Astronomically speaking, it's the first day of Autumn
But the sun is hanging round like summer's hungover
They'll knock the garage down and build flats where I sit
The traffic's so persistent that it barely registers
And it smells like a mix between petrol and dog shit

Just let me be the one that keeps track of the moles on your back
I just sighed, the universe replied: "let this pass you by"

Sometimes it's just enough to know I keep him on his toes
Is he as sympathetic as me to the untimely demise of your synthetic clothes?
I've displayed marriage proposals on the Jumbotrons of ballgames you've not been at
I've written eulogies in guestbooks of galleries in the hopes that you might pass

Just let me be the one that keeps track of the moles on your back
I just sighed, the universe replied: "let this pass you by

She: nervous and barefoot, chats to me at the front door
He: boyfriend, inside's a saint, becoming a martyr
Me; rolling, writhing on the floor, stared daggers pulled from my thoracic wall
When I hold sea shells to my ears, I'm pretty sure I can hear you

He gave a gift of the Faber Book of Love Poems
Annotated the ones he thought applied the most
Not gonna win you round with prose
If anyone should know then it's I should know
Girl, there must be a reason you let it slip
Went to the point of sending the message
Six months of visceral Catherine Wheels
Kissing carnivores to make it seem like less of a deal

Just let me be the one that keeps track of the moles on your back
I just sighed, the universe replied: "let this pass you by

I promise after this I will pick up the phone book
And choose the name that my eyes fall upon on their first look
Aim all of my poorly composed declarations there in the future
I'm so sorry to have to put you through a lifetime of dedications that you never desired
But this one sentence bludgeons me over the head
(Ok) I'm a little bit drunk, and I mean just a little bit
No lush in denial, only rather coquettish
I'm fifteen years old and my parents' only son
Like I barely survived a girls' school education
Prettier now that you've grown your hair long
I'm a slip of a man since I cut mine all off

Please just let me be the one to keep track
Of the freckles and the moles on your back