Ballad of the Barrel Organist - Momus

Don’t stop the night, we dash to this flat

And again for the first time strip off our wet clothes

Stop the night, the lovers' sixth sense

Instinctively tells us another is close

Don’t stop the night, we peel back the sheets

And glimpse the life history lying underneath in stark relief

Stop the night, of the creak in the boards

The creak that forebodes the voyeur and the Christmas thief

Make the night we first made love come again

Don’t stop the night of the whispering tale

Of your crazy old flame with his heart palpitations and crisp physique

Stop the night of this pain in my neck

That wrecks any chance of a semi-acceptable sexual technique

Make the night we first made love come again

The night we first made love at gunpoint

For this uninvited, unrequited, undelighted, uninspired

Missionary, visionary, mercenary, «stick it up or I fire!»

Little boy lost down memory lane — ex-lover

Show me the night the skeleton came

Out of the closet and under the light feeling very much alive

Show me the night, naked and pink, negotiating a hot malt milk

We’re praying the old lady who keeps a spare key will suddenly arrive

Make the night we first made love come again

The night we first made love at gunpoint

We swallow our pride and catch our breath

We swallow our breath and catch a sigh

We swallow a spy to watch our death

Out of the corner of your eye

Little boy lost down memory lane

Your coppertone, scatterbrain, crack shot crank

Exasperated, lacerated, copy-cat clerk from Barclay’s Bank

Little boy lost down memory lane

Lover, perhaps we’ll die

Perhaps we’ll die

Perhaps we’ll die