Silhouettes enveloped in paper cups;
drip, drip, drip.
It’s all too much.
Lucid pictures on the wall,
Of Alice, who is a small girl.
A slippery mask is on his face;
A Guy-Fawkes man.
He’s a bit out of place:
one, two, three.
And all’s aloof,
Warhol’s about and he’s on the roof
of my mouth, it’s all the same.
Got you my pretties, let’s have a game.
A game of gander, a game of goose;
I’ll run and you’ll hide,
all in and around, inside my mind.
Lot’s of things you’ll see,
of murder and debauchery;
Manson, Bundy, Aleister Crowley.
‘Oh what fun it is to be naughty’,
Said the man, with no face.
Said the man, who’s a bit out of place.
‘Come in my dear and have a drink’
‘I’ll fetch the knife, I’ll fetch the plate.’
What wicked things we’ll do tonight,
What a pretty thing you are tonight.
Temptation wets the tongue,
of both old and young.
And as they smile,
ever beats the drum;
I linger lonely, I linger on