You don't know how hearts burn
Or how much of what dances on the head of a pin
You can fit in before dawn of the day when the day dies
As it does, as it does
And I'm up your stairs
Bannister like a barrister
For the prosecution on the charge of prostitution
I find you a bed and the bed browns with the heat, heat, heat
While I wobble by the door and wonder
If that's what they call sleep, your struggle to my stagger
In you, in you, in you
And up your sneak
Banister like a barrister
For the prostitution on the charge of prosecution
Oh, you don't know how heat turns mе on
And how it turns me in
To whatever dancеs on the head of a pin

Before the dawn of the day when the day dies
As it does again, again