All the cities in the world
And so very little time and
So many different girls...
All you have to do is find them.
There's a wealth of opportunity, you plan your trips accordingly.
A pity, but the pretty ones are usually more touristy.
Say, how'd you like to run away from these machines?
Everywhere the spies are printing out your dreams.
Seven stops in seven different countries,
Seven page itineraries, memories thick as Bloody Marys, Jesus, Joseph, bloody hell.

Right now we're here in Boston,
In love with downtown crossing.
New York will be there in the morning.
Come back to bed, my darling.

Four years thrown away on vows we never kept.
Forty-five minutes every day religiously devoted to regret.
Time we could have spent on medication thrown away on education,
And we planned to take a trip to Scotland but we never made it.
How'd you like to run away from these machines?
I had Julian's and Steve's.
You had Julia's and Jeanette's.
You wear your terror on your sleeve for all the men I haven't met (yet).
I had Oliver in Potsdam, you had Elanor in Amsterdam.
We're keeping track so carefully we've missed the state we're in completely.
Honestly, your foot is out the door and I've got scores of offers elsewhere and keep both feet planted firmly in the air,
And tomorrow you can totally erase me from your mind, but trust me everything is fine,
Because
Right now, we're here in Boston,
In my apartment in the south end.
Forget your year in London.
Come back to bed, my darling.

You can put the details in a letter,
The more embarrassing the better.
Right now I can be happy if I choose to.
I know that in the morning I will lose you...

And maybe you'll go mad.
And maybe I'll go gray
And pack up to Berlin,
Or maybe it won't matter anyway.
We'll find out that your mom was right and you'll admit you're really gay.
And maybe I'll wake up
In a city far away.
Or maybe we'll make up
And buy a house and have a couple kids and a Labrador and a microwave.
But anyway,
Right now we're here in Boston.
In Eden, where you almost pulled your pants down.
Don't worry who these jokes will all be lost on.
Come back to bed, my darling.
There is nothing in the world that we can count on,
Even that we will wake up is an assumption.
But I know for a fact that I loved someone,
And for a about a year he lived in Boston...

Writer : Palmer, Amanda
Copyright : Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.