Music To Hold Hands To

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