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As the village gives me up for dead I hide in a neighbor's bed Then under the door glides a river of glossy red A fruit in a fractured skin A slit in the peel and the juices come tumbling through The boat was too crowded so I had a word with the crew I can't get my head around spread betting I'd rather use the Cher setting The world's financial markets hold no interest for me That man from the string quartet Is wearing the thing that he won in a drunken bet Your friend's trying to call you; it looks like he might be upset Intricate patterns of light dictate the tone Downed by a wink from a sylph I've never known I'm so alone The cutting-room men from the studio got their wish The clunk of a cauldron on flagstone, the slippery dish My seventy-eights in the move were all smashed apart The legs in the megaphone pulse to the beat of my heart |
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