You can't keep a secret   But you keep a diary anyway   And you get away with murder   Because you've got a way with words   Yeah, and I know where you keep it:   Under where your underwear is meant to be   But usually it's all over the floor   I can't see the carpet anymore      If you arose by any other name   You'd smell as sweet   And you'd look just the same      I could never understand you   Hating music to hold hands to   Sometimes something you can dance to   Is the last thing that you need   Yeah, and squandering a Sunday   On a 499-piece jigsaw puzzle   Doesn't trouble me one little bit   One little bit!      I feel like going visiting this evening   Across the rooftops of North Carlton   While the suburb is asleep   My friends live in renovators' dreams   It's as euphemistic as it seems