Tart - Elvis Costello

Hear silver trumpets will trill in Arabic streets of Seville

Oranges roll in the gutter

And you pick them up

And peel back the skin

To the red fruit within

But the flavour is…

Tart

And the flavour is…

Tart

Is it something you crave?

And you say that you only feel bitterness

When you know it’s a lie, lie, lie…

Wild with a blackberry bush

There were blossoms of cherries to crush

There, at the edge of the asphalt tempting fingertips

They stain your hand, press too hard

They’ll colour your lips…

But the flavour is…

Tart

And the flavour is…

Tart

Is it something you crave?

'Cos you say that you only feel bitterness

Would it kill you to show us a little sweetness?

Odd, where nothing else grows

It was something like love that she chose

Always a creature of habit

When pity would do

She wore down that heel with no feeling

She kept on her shoes

Nylon was hung from a peg

And a kohl black seam ran down her leg

Fishermen look for their nets

And send their regrets

The bug lay there broken

She spoke, «Is this some kind of joke?»

But the flavour is…

Tart