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