A song about a friendship
What if they all go down, down, all go down the rabbit hole. And the rabbit hole, is a bloody trap! Trap! Trap!
So many mates blurring out of the picture,
Who’s to blame, who’s to say
No one’s a permanent fixture
Regardless whether it’s hitching or ditching
The bitching is fixing the slacking ties
Straight outta work of fiction
We hold hands, but oh hands so clammy
And so little, much too little to give
When there’s so many
In a circle around a fire in a shopping trolley
Be a pal, give me some, isn’t there some more?
But ain’t nothing more!
(Chorus:
Hookers, only who cares, only mirrors, only smoke
There’s a special prize at the end of the rope
Where all shit turns gold
Where they all think you’re dope
And the head ain’t a mess, the heart ain’t no less
But sure something is broke)
Ain’t we just two apples from the same tree
Rotting and rolling in our separate corners, duty free
There’s a nuzzle on the side of the neck,
What the heck,
A penny’s still money
I’ll take a fuzzy memory of warm breath
When there’s no-thing left
Ain’t life a barrel of laughs, splitting at the seams
Spitting on the lesser mongrels
Splintering the meaning
You fellas love me so
I’ve got that special glow
Tripping down the memory lane in a slow mo float,
Because I’m the last one to know
What you were like before the bad hand mauled you so
(Chorus:
Hookers, only who cares, only mirrors, only smoke
There’s a special prize at the end of the rope
Where all shit turns gold
Where they all think you’re dope
And the head ain’t a mess, the heart ain’t no less
But sure something is broke)
Oh my fried friend, my chummy cheese
We, two chicken clocking the time among
The pigs an the geese
Your red socialist scarf, riding the breeze
You don’t remember a hand on the inside of your knee
But to me,
A copper’s, still a copper, a copper’s still cash
You know I’m a thrifty Nelly, I can make it last
And if you, yous can have your stash, then you can have my stash
I can go peckin at the crumbs before the sun goes belly up
Free-range with a feeling strange
That nothing ain’t enough
(Chorus:
Hookers, only who cares, only mirrors, only smoke
There’s a special prize at the end of the rope
Where all shit turns gold
Where they all think you’re dope
And the head ain’t a mess, the heart ain’t no less
But sure something is broke)
Sometimes when baking in the early dark,
I look at all of us, born under the black mark
Two of us, amongst them all
The only ones not faking
For once my hand is not too clammy to hold
And your jaw is not shaking
But really, let’s not be hasty
If I don’t want our history to go stale, I go basting
But baste till your wrist goes numb
All that’s left is the aftertaste
Man, what a waste