(Originally performed by Momus: The Guitar Lesson)nnThe pupil is twelve, attractive withdrawnnnIn a midnight blue school uniformnnLips just a little too full for her facennDistant eyes full of spacennIn her posture no trace of coquettennNo defiancennnnShe fingers the frets looking forlornnnCrossing her legs where her tights have been tornnnStarts as her mother comes into the roomnnnAnd the afternoon grows stillnnAnd her mother feels a chillnnShivers and buttons her coatnnnnI gently correct the curve of her backnnAnd open her book in the now empty flatnnAt the classical piece I've had her preparennAnd her arms are bare as she playsnnAnd I draw back behind her earnnA few strands of hair gone astraynnnnShe shows me her bracelet, the lesson is donennI turn it around between finger and thumnnWe sit face to face and it seems to me thatnnHer face is the face of a catnnAnd touching the place where her breasts will bennnI press my hand flatnnnnShe comes into my lap, I turn her aroundnnHer hands clasp my neck and her feet skim the groundnnHer skirt travels up under my palmnnBut the pupil sits looking so calmnnAs if listening to the distant sound of a burglar alarm.nnnnWhat happened next it's hard to recallnnThe guitar lesson left no traces at allnnNow from afar it seems to resemblennA strange composition in oilnnOf a man, a guitar and an innocent little girl