Not of a ***** and opened mouth snog
On some suntan oil stinking beach
But rather holding hand's under the moon
And just the gentle brush of lips on my cheek
Barely clad bodies under the sun
Baring their all to those who would look
No, just soft gentle curves left for imagination
To think of pleasures to come
After all there is no hurry to capture your love
For if its true your true love will come
And fourty years later you'll still be holding hands
Under a bright lovers moon
What a load of sentimental junk