Alison Moyet - Ode To Boy

When he moves I watch him from behind

He turns and laughter flickers in his eyes

Intent and direct when he speaks

I watch his lips

When he drives I love to watch his hands

White and smooth almost feminine

Almost American

I have to watch him



In his face age descends on youth

Exaggeration on the truth

He caught me looking then but soon his eyes forgot

And everything he seems to do

Reflects just another shade of blue

I saw her searching into you and ached a while



I watch his lips caress the glass

His fingers stroke its stem and pass

To lift a cigarette at last

He dries his eyes

From the shadows by the stair

I watch as he weeps unaware

That I'm in awe of his despair