Fevered Skin

On the cliffs of Monjunette
Salty air in every breath
We're half drunk and half awake
I wouldn't have it any other way

There may be cobalt skies in foreign lands
But there's wine stains all across our hands
And a wicked storm that's rolling in
To come and cool our fevered skin

Come let me in
Come let me in
Come and cool our fevered skin

There's a master 'neath the camphor tree
Who's cooked for seven centuries
But we won't need forks or knives tonight
Cause I'm a man of simple appetite

There's well heeled folk with silken threads
Who lay all day on broken beds
But all our clothes are split and torn
We won't need them to keep us warm

Down on the floor
Down on the floor
We won't need them to keep us warm

Their festivals and funeral pyres
Are flames of the same desire
So give your hungry hand to me
And we'll both burn out happily
Until that sun falls in the sea