I drive alone, home from work   And I always think of her   Well late at night I call her   But I never say a word   And I can see her squeeze the phone between her chin and shoulder   And I can almost smell her breath faint with a sweet scent of decay   She serves him mashed potatoes   And she serves him peppered steak, with corn   Pulls her dress up over her head   Lets it fall to the floor   And does she ever whisper in his ear all her favorite fruit   And all the most exotic places they are cultivated   And I'd like to take her there, rather than this train   And if I weren't a civil servant, I'd have a place in the colonies   We'd play croquet behind white-washed walls and drink our tea at four   Within interventions distance of the embassy   The midday air grows thicker with the heat   And drifts towards the line of trees   Where negroes blink their eyes, they sink into siesta   And we are rotting like a fruit underneath a rusting roof   We dream our dreams and sing our songs of love, fecundity   Of life and love   Of life and love   Of life and love