(Brooker / Reid) We skipped the light fandango turned cartwheels 'cross the floor I was feeling kinda seasick but the crowd called out for more The
to die - the crowds reward you About to die - their cheers ignore you Light a candle up in kingdom come Light the way for the chosen one No candle burned with
Chicken in the farmyard, there's an oven in your bin You're growing old with sorrow, you're growing fat with sin I was living in the graveyard, I was
a watering can Some Santa Claus-like face of note entreats my ears to set afloat my feeble sick and weary brain and I am overcome with shame and hide
(Brooker / Reid) Outside the gates of Cerdes sits the two-pronged unicorn who plays at relaxation time a rhinestone flugelhorn whilst mermaids lace
jeer at you I leave now with regret and as the gloom begins to fall I see there is no, only all and though you came with sword held high you did not conquer
(Brooker / Reid) Still scowling black good Captain Clack must eat his humble pie His bed is made the colours fade his eyes once wet are dry The naked
(Brooker / Reid) Jostle, hassle, elbow bustle in a swirling rainbow tussle Caught and frozen, broken sheen now unites for one brief scene Lonely in
Tulips lips oh luskus delph Your baking breath breeds body 'x' With silken measures try to gauge The inside sweetness of your cave. Peach preserve your
put the pot on the hot In the cellar lies my wife, in my wife there's a knife so tote that hammer, lift that pick and banish inhibition with a pogo stick
Cellar full of diamonds, turret full of gold All for a mermaid's locket, too much to hold Drink the seals' blood from the ocean, Drink the whole ocean
It was all once bright jewels And glittering sand The oceans have ravaged And strangled the land Waste fills the temples, Dead daughters are born The
Brooker / Reid) Though I know the night has fallen and the sun's sailed out to sea I will wait here for the band to play the trumpet voluntary And with
Did you hear what happened to Jenny Droe? Couldn't believe it, but it's true Twenty-six, and now she's dead I wish that I could've died instead Did you
which I use are pretentious and make you cringe with embarrassment, let me remind you of the pilgrim who asked for an audience with the Dalai Lama. He
Skeptic at the feast in ashes Huntsmen at the voyeurs' ball Funeral parlour guests invited Mourning poorly worn by all Old and mouldy words of passion
pitcher clean Take a mop to swab the floor and destroy the evil dream Counting houses full of lead, the evil eye on high The streets awash with blood
Poor mohammed at the peep show Kick the beggar down the stairs Can't keep guard, he's old and feeble Steal his books, burn his prayers Poor mohammed