butterflies occupy my insides when I'm lying with you, reading lines that I've memorised,
I'd take you to France if it'd make you love me.
you don't have to smile if it makes you feel shy, you don't have to run if it makes you feel tired,
I'd take you to Spain if it'd make you love me.
and the birds will sing the same old melody,
crying out for an end to monotony,
England waits for you to breathe.
and the waves will break and the sun will set
and the boys like girls and the girls aren't ready yet,
England waits for you to care
mesmerised by your calm sort of recklessness,
I'd tell you false tales, I'd buy you necklaces,
but romance never seemed to make you love me.
in the eye of the storm I see what's drawn me in,
the brightest eyes, in the darkness, can't be seen:
the lights are never off, perhaps they should be.
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