Major Parkinson Casanova
I'm on the front page of a dirty magazine
Mr. January pumping kerosene
Can't you see my face, it's a lie?
"Close the curtains, flip the switch, make me happy, baby you're a bitch"
"Turn me on, turn me on, tonight"
Casanova, do you love her?
Now do you really think that you would find that bitter self-esteem to push between her legs
And make her happy like you used to do?
In the time when everything was simple
She was seventeen and you were twenty-two
And it was summer
It was the summer when you ran away
From the traffic noise of screaming rubber ducks
And grieving wives on channel 45
When no one talks about the weather anymore
Casanova, you're getting older
Now the world is not for you to blame
It's just a movie rolling backwards randomly objecting choices that we call in vain
And the violence that you try to justify is not a language that I still contain
But in the summer, I will wrap you up in cellophane
And bury you under the pouring rain
'Cause no one talks about the weather anymore
