Closer To You Lyrics - Momus

And maybe you're the Circle Line girl 

trying so hard not to let on you know 

I'm looking at the way your toes poke out through your sandals 

at funny angles to your feet 

and how you know it turns me on 

Or maybe you're the Spanish girl 

playing with your hair as you wait for your friend 

in that wild octagon of mirrors the Tate calls a coffee shop 

And I can smell that hair from here 

and I can see from eight different angles 

the way your nipples look through that thin black cotton top 

reflected to infinity 

And oh God, it's places like that and purple-tipped prose like this 

that's going to hemorrhage me, girl 

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Ooo, it's true: 

Girl, I'm only doing it to be closer to you 

Or maybe you're the bay window girl 

in Wandsworth Town, in ripped jeans and open Venetians 

painting the difficult corner of an empty room 

white under a naked bulb 

leaning across the bar at the top of your stepladder 

at the precise moment I'm passing on the steep street 

at the bottom of your garden in the gathering night 

voyeur's delight 

Ooo, it's true: 

Girl, I'm only doing it to be closer to you 

Photos 

Or maybe you're the foundation painter 

at the Central School, looking so fine-boned 

I could carry you home in your portfolio case 

laced up gently so you won't cry out on the bus 

and give the game away 

tied up lightly, because girl 

how could I knowingly injure someone 

with your perfect lips and wrists, your exquisite structure 

Oh, little acrylic painter, I can kiss eggshells, I can be ginger 

all the critics say I'm such a sensitive singer 

Ooo, it's true: 

Girl, I'm only doing it to be closer to you 

And maybe you're listening to my voice now 

on your Walkman or your bedsit Dansette 

letting my songs slip into you on this quiet night 

in with your pads of doodles and your fingers full of pencils 

and low tar cigarettes 

And the music's light and pleasant so you hardly notice 

what I'm singing about in "Paper Wraps Rock" 

And "Murderers, the Hope of Women," 

my voice is just a sound that pleases you 

that enters you and leaves you just the same 

and that's how I want it to stay, because, you know 

Ooo, it's true: 

Girl, I'm only doing it to be closer to you 

But some of those were bitter records 

records which accuse women, girls like you 

of using your attractiveness wantonly and willfully 

to trap and to paralyze men 

who wanted you and could never have you 

men who sometimes felt the perverse urge 

to trash the women they desired the most 

men who imagined they despised all those immaculate visions 

what adolescent crap, what kind of idiot would sing that? 

Oh, not me because, you know 

Ooo, it's true: 

Girl, I'm only doing it to be closer to you 

But sometimes I think that every man who writes 

every man who paints or composes, deep soul or symphonies 

it makes no difference, all those men are only making do with substitutes: 

Solomon, Confucius, Franz Kafka 

they'd never have done it if they'd been as beautiful as you 

sitting cross-legged there with gentle music 

lapping around a promise, there where your thighs meet 

of fertility a million artists couldn't compete with 

Ooo, it's true: 

Girl, I'm only doing it to be closer to you 

And all the time I see you there 

in the eye of my mind, and all that cheap macho stuff 

about de Sade and misogyny vanishes into thin air 

and I'm moved to tears just like any other sucker 

who's been bruised by all the things that weren't to be 

and yet who's ready to fall down on his knees 

in front of a woman, and say: 

"Whatever you may do, whatever you may be to me 

despite the times we disagree, your ridiculous ambitions 

your conventional inhibitions 

I want you to know that I respect you 

I accept you and I want you to accept me 

I want to kiss you, kiss your stockinged knee 

accept the uniquely soft flesh 

on the undersides of your hips," 

Ooo, it's true: 

Girl, I'm only doing it to be closer to you 

And when I've won you 

when I've fallen down in front of you, and said: 

"Damn Franz Kafka, damn the Thin White Duke 

(damn the Thin White Duke) 

it's you and you alone I'm doing this for," 

When I'm through with heroes and pastiche 

(throwing darts in lovers' eyes) 

when you've let me make love to you 

the slowest, deepest way that I know how 

(when you do that for me, baby) 

and it feels so good (bear with me) 

that's when I'll think of Paul Klee's epitaph: 

"Here lies the painter Paul Klee 

somewhat closer than usual to the heart of creation 

but far from close enough," 

And girl, here I lie 

far from close enough to you...