You want her to love you,
you’ve changed your ways,
you put on airs,
you only talk about,
your journeys in first class, in first class.
You want her to respect you,
you show off all your best books,
you’ve seen hundreds of films,
you explain the origins of
those carpets on the wall.
And a time will come when the signal rings out.
You want her to dream,
you hold your little finger in the air,
you talk about jet lag,
about white beaches
at the other end of the earth, of the earth.
(or) Why not Venice,
when the fountains light up,
under grey skies,
we could dance
on the shores of the lagoons, of the lagoons.
And a time will come when the signal rings out
a moment when you’ll feel…
animal, animal, animal,
animal, animal.
The one that waits under the downpour,
that curls up against the door,
the one who cries, who howls
until you come out,
who makes love to you in the car,
who comes running when you call,
who cries, who cries, who cries
“My god, women are so beautiful!”
“My god, my god, my god…”
“Women are so…”
You want her to dance,
for there to be flowers scattered across the ground,
and in the great silence,
you feel as though you could walk on the sea,
on the sea.
You want her to love you,
you show off all your best books,
and forget certain ones,
like those centrefolds stuck on your walls,
on your walls.
And a time will come when the signal...
rings out,
a moment when you’ll feel…
animal, animal, animal,
animal, animal.
Animal,
the signal,
the signal,
animal...