Wittke / Velvetone
Better believe me, ‚cause this tale is true,
about a vine I know,
the strangest flower I’ve ever seen,
and it started not so long ago.
She tasted of honey and her scent’s so fine,
the beautiest buds I’ve seen,
but believe me, if you pick her bloom,
her thorns prick bad and so mean.
She’s bearing buds and flowers from a heart full of lies,
when the sun’s out of sight.
The big ole pale moon let her flowers rise,
She’s a dark blossom, that blooms by night.
When I first met her, it was dusty and dark,
down in the Gardens Of Love,
she dazzled me with all her perfume,
send from heaven above.
It seemed she knew what was on my mind,
knew all my failings and fears.
So in a moment of improvidence,
she blew her poison into my ears.
As a broken man, I fled from her,
stumbled across the bed.
She hit me there, where it hurts the most,
but she’ll never ever do it again.
So if you ever meet a thing like her,
take this advice for free:
Don’t get to close, better move carefully,
so you’ll never end up like me.