Bruce Broughton Follow

When he ran from you
In a private detective overcoat
And dirty dead man's shoes

The pretty things of Knightsbridge
Lying for a minister of state
Heard a far cry from the nod and wink
Here at Traitor's Gate

Oh, the high heel he used to be
Has been ground down
And he listens for the footsteps
As they follow him around

To murder my love is a crime
But will you still love a man out of time?

There's a tuppeny hapenny millionaire
Looking for a fourpenny one
With a tight grip on the short hairs
Of the public imagination

For his private wife and his kids somewhere
Real life becomes a rumor
Say his up Dutch courage, just three French letters
And a German sense of humor

He's got a mind like a sewer
And a heart like a fridge
He stands to be insulted
And he pays for the privilege

To murder my love is a crime
But will you still love a man out of time?
A man out of time

The biggest wheels of industry
Retire short and sharp
And the after dinner overtures
Are nothing but an after thought

Somebody's creeping in the kitchen
There's a reputation to be made
Whose nerves are always on a knife's edge
Who's up late polishing the blade

Love is always scarpering
Or cowering or fawning
You drink yourself insensitive
And hate yourself in the morning

To murder my love is a crime
But will you still love a man out of time?

When he ran from you
In a private detective overcoat