Peter Hammill Just Good Friends
Drawing back the curtains, sluggish city daylight in the afternoon.... Here's that special silence, just before you walk out of the hotel room. Each time we're so close I assume that we'll never be again oh, how long can we pretend that we're just good friends?
A casual affair is all that you can spare from your emotional change; a calendar of meetings, strangers on the street the best we ever arrange. Now I just can't stand all the pain, all the constant make and mend: how long must we pretend that we're just good friends?
I gave you my devotion, hiding nothing up my sleeve if I walked clean out of your life would you even notice me leave? So much tangled-up emotion, should I stay or should I go? If I walked clean out of your life how long would it take you to know? Are we such good friends?
You used to say 'I love you', you used to say 'You make me feel alive and young'; now we're just a habit, a flavour, once a month, to titillate your tongue. How sordid this has become as the means approach the end oh, how long can we pretend that we're still good friends?
