I drive alone, home from work <br />And I always think of her <br />Well late at night I call her <br />But I never say a word <br />And I can see her squeeze the phone between her chin and shoulder <br />And I can almost smell her breath faint with a sweet scent of decay <br /><br />She serves him mashed potatoes <br />And she serves him peppered steak, with corn <br />Pulls her dress up over her head <br />Lets it fall to the floor <br />And does she ever whisper in his ear all her favorite fruit <br />And all the most exotic places they are cultivated <br /><br />And I&#39;d like to take her there, rather than this train <br />And if I were a civil servant, I&#39;d have a place in the colonies <br />We&#39;d play croquet behind white-washed walls and drink our tea at four <br />Within <b>interventions</b> distance of the embassy <br />The midday air grows thicker with the heat <br />And drifts towards the line of trees <br />And we are rotting like a fruit underneath a rusting roof <br />We dream our dreams and sing our songs of love, <b>fecundity </b><br /><br /><br />All Her Favorite Fruit - Camper Van Beethoven<br /><br /><b>fecundity</b><br /><br />