Ode To Boy - Alison Moyet

When he moves 
I watch him from behind
He turns and laughter 
flickers in his eyes
Intent and direct when he speaks 
I watch his lips

When he drives 
I love to watch his hands
white and smooth 
almost feminine
almost american
I have to watch him

In his face 
age descends on youth
Exaggeration on the truth
He caught me looking then 
but soon his eyes forgot
and everything he seems to do
Reflects just another 
shade of blue
I saw her searching into you 
and ached a while

I watch his lips 
carress the glass
His fingers stroke 
the stem and pass
To lift a cigarette at last
he dries his eyes
From a shadow by the stair
I watch as he weeps unaware
that I'm in awe of his despair