He always kept the lights down low, the venetian blinds just so. From daylight to darkness our lives were askew. Now I ask you: What’s a girl supposed to do? Midnight phone calls. Drop-offs and knocks. Plain vanilla envelopes. Swamp water socks. The scar on his forehead. The scab by his eye. I couldn’t help thinking: He must be a spy.
He walked in the bar like a shot on the wind, and he ordered a glass with no ice or no spin. I could tell by his eyes he was up to no good. I could see in his hands he had something to hide. I thought he was a liar but what could I say before he swept, swept, swept, swept, swept me away. So much for my dreams – they were wide as the sky. I just remember thinking: He must be a spy.
It says a lot about my curious nature. I’m so surprised when I consider the facts. I guess it’s a wonder that I got out alive. I just remember thinking: He must be a spy. But…
Oh, could he drive.
The moon went dark as we strolled down the street. And a car rolled up and I was out on my feet. Sometimes I wonder if he thinks about me: If he thought I was blind and I just couldn’t see. The things that he told me just didn’t add up, and now he’s crushed my heart like a Dixie Cup. Now I gotta roll, take a powder and fly.
He must be a spy. He must be a spy. He must be a spy. I really think he is a spy.
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