All Her Favorite Fruit lyrics

Artist  : Camper Van Beethoven 
Song : All Her Favorite Fruit
 
I drive alone, home from work 
And I always think of her 
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 intervention's distance of the embassy 
The midday air grows thicker with the heat 
And drifts towards the line of trees 
When 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 the
fecundity 
Of life and love 
Of life and love 
Of life and love