We're all cuddles and smiles...And I couldn't love you...And you're not an ordin...And The Sun is uncharac...efore these flowers wither like all accolades...And you're only doing i...In the Radio Times and on breakfast TV...Our faces appear because young healthy faces...We skate to a halt and say 'Try it!'...And the caption they us...And over their products...efore these flowers wither like all accolades... Christopher wasn't our manager...And Jane didn't do our cocaine and our PR...And when we came home...And you'd set up camp w...And the serious papers we offered our story said 'Sorry'...And slammed down the ph...In a feature and letter they titled ...'Love on ice' and 'Gay love on Ice'...Their nation and their sexuality...And now we've come out ...No-one remembers our names...And Christopher isn't our manager...And we need the PR more than Jane needs our cocaine