I'm on the frontpage of a dirty magazine
Mr. January pumpkin carousing
Can't you see my face it's alive
Close the curtains
Flip the switch, make me happy
Baby, you're a bitch
Turn me on, turn me on, tonight

Casanova, do you love her
Now do you really think that you will find
That bit of self-esteem to push between her legs
And make her happy like you used to do
And the time when everything was simple
She was seventeen and you were twenty two

And it was summer
It was the summer when you ran away
From the traffic noise of screaming rubber ducks
And grieving wives on channel 45
When no one talks about the weather anymore

Casanova, you're getting older
Now the world is not for you to blame
It's just a movie rolling backwards
Randomly injecting choises that we call in vain
And the violence that you try to justify
Is not a language that I still contain

But in the summer
I will wrap you up in cellophane
And bury you under the pouring rain
'Cause no one talks about the weather anymore