When I look up to the skies
I see your eyes
A funny kind of yellow
I rush home to bed I soak my head
I see your face
Underneath my pillow
I wake next morning, tired, still yawning
See your face come
Peeping through my window
Pictures of matchstick men and you
Mirages of matchstick men and you
All I ever see is them and you
(Status Quo, Pictures Of Matchstick Men, 1968)
