The tongue has its desire
There is always a wicked secret
There is more than meets the eye
The delicious story is ripe to tell
Over the tea-cups and in the square
At last the secret is out
The scent of the elder bushes
There's never smoke without fire
The sporting prints in the hall
High up on the convent wall
Behind the ghost on the links
The kiss, the kiss, the kiss
The croquet matches in summer
A private reason for this
And the man who madly drinks
The handshake, the cough
Under the look of fatigue
Behind the corpse in the reservoir
The attack of migraine and the sigh
There is always another story
For the clear voice suddenly singing
At last the secret is out
Still waters run deep, my dear
To the intimate friend
Behind the lady who dances
