Once, for glass of wine, she came
to my place, to my place.
She looked around, rolled up her sleeves
an brought order into my four walls.
She had taken all the sofa cushions
and folded them neatly down the middle.
I know, such a girl really would be
wasted on me,
wasted on me!
Then she stood by the window sill and wiped
all the panes 'til they shone, all the panes 'til they shone.
Such industriousness is a gift, not something learnt,
but imbibed instead of mother's milk.
In the end every thing was tidy and spotless -
only she had got her new little dress dirty.
I know, such a girl really would be
wasted on me,
wasted on me!
She hung the little dress with the stains in it up
to get dry, to get dry.
Then I saw that she wore self-knitted panties,
roomy and warm, for protection from draughts!
She could pull them up, if she wanted to,
comfortably from her knees to her armpits.
I know, such a girl really would be
wasted on me,
wasted on me!
She had brought her toothbrush with her
and stayed the night, and stayed the night.
She cried, because I said she should shut up
when she wanted to show me a couple of tricks
taken from a book "Happiness for Couples" - or some such
- you can get it at every railway station!
I know, such a girl really would be
wasted on me,
wasted on me!
I told her that she mustn't cry
in my bed, in my bed.
"Wait until tomorrow, then you'll meet
a friend of mine here, who is nicer to you!" -
Now she lives with him, she has already skilfully embroidered
the number of his car on a cushion.
I know, such a girl really would be
wasted on me,
wasted on me!