Sunday Best.

These are the nights they've been waiting for,
Summer sings a melody that the young ones can't ignore,
Times have changed so quickly,
But they're alright, they're alright
They've got each other, they're alright,
Sleep around if they like, they're still alright.
Let them whisper, let them giggle again,
Remembering all the times they've wasted,
And all the nights they've longed for too.
Perhaps they should listen more carefully,
Their fingers plaited neatly and his mouth against her ear,
Hearing your breath was all she needed,
So with that smile her heart was warmed,
Like fresh earth over that box,
Where she kept the words,
That used to play about those lips.
Now there's a different feeling,
From those supple fingertips,
And she wouldn't give it up for the world.
It's all a game to you
But to her, it's alright, it's alright.
Back against mattress and hair buried faces
All lead up to the moment of lost innocence.
Your honest eyes fogged by deciet,
And your crooked smile assures her now,
Your goals have been met and it's time to leave.
But to her you both are alright, you're alright.
Now his lips have left her ear
And traveled to her Warm, yet reluctant lips.
There's only one dance floor where this all ends
And that dance floor happens to be her mattress.
But now with the ripped clothes
And inevitable smell of perfume on the pillow
she knows they're not alright, they're not alright,
So she turns to him and says..
"Real life is not some fairytale,
I just thought you should know.
And while you picture me in my Sunday best,
Ribboned hair and summer dress,
The sepia tone isn't capturing the vacancy sign,
You're out of focus now and running out of time."
She knows they're not alright, they're not alright.

This is very good, even if Ian is a fat boy about it.