Berlin Syndrome

Found you outside on the platform, you'd be crying
For all the truths and all the lying
And all the miles away from home you were
And the ticket inspector here, he doesn't recognize me
And he's remembered every face he's seen since 1963

Well fine, fuck it, I don't care, I don't care anymore
Anyway, it's not like anyone here is keeping a score
Between me and the German fucking rail staff
So we hit the autobahns back south to the border towns
To the red flags of Schaffhausen where the cowbell keyrings sound

And if the devils loves details, then godliness floats in the vague
And I can't remember how i felt at that stage
Though I'm pretty sure that I was in love with you
And you picked your favourite saint and bought an ashtray in her name
From the gift shop by the lake that bled blue rivers full of rain

And truth was stretched like clingfilm over a john
The kind they have by the autobahns
And I pissed on my own shoes for what seemed like hours
The word 'john' caught like cooties from your mother tongue
With the upspeak of a faker and the other words I left unsung

But you were so young and I was old enough to know
These things never turn out how you had supposed
When you are exchanging your final monologues
So as i left you in the lobby I set my Walkman down on your knee
I'd imagine it romantic, like Troilus' new sleeve

Since then you just make cameos when I'm asleep
You're the William Shatner of this elite
Genre of women that I have loved and lost
But with Facebook, hope, and Myspace I could find you in a keystroke
But for airfares and the likelihood you'd have found another bloke