(Patrick Campbell-Lyons/Alex Spyropoulos)

Tiny goddess wrapped in lace, that certain smile upon your face
Is telling me what's to be when he leaves
In a room just five foot eight, I sit alone and I will wait
To hear from him, to wait for him to call me

Don't let him humour me with letters I won't read
Please sympathise with me, if only you could speak

Photograph that's in my case will travel with me every place
Reminding me what to be for his love
Orchards smell of sweet perfume, the mountain side is now in bloom
And I am here, waiting for his company

Don't let him humour me with letters I won't read
The clock's at half past three, it's stopped awake like me

Tiny goddess wrapped in lace, that certain smile upon your face
Is telling me what's to be when he leaves
In a room just five foot eight, I sit alone and I will wait
To hear from him, to wait for him to call me.