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a mile and a half on a bus takes a long timethe odour of old prison food takes a long time to pass you bywhen youve been insideday upon day of this wandering gets you downnobody gives you a chance or a dollar in this old townhovering silence from you is a giveawaysqualor and smoke's not your style"I don't like this place"we better gothen I compare notes with your older sister
I am a lazy gett, she is as pure as the cold driven snowwhat did you learn from your tim ein the solitarycell of your mind?there was noises, distractions from anything goodand the old prison foodcolour my life with the chaos of troublecause anything's better than posh isolation
I missed the busyou were laid on your backwith the boy from the arab strapwith the boy from the arab strapits something to speak of the way you are feelingto crowds there assembleddo you ever feel you have gone too far?everyone suffers in silence and a burdenthe man who drives minicabs down in Old Comptonthe Asian manwith his love hate affairwith his racist clientelea central location for you is a must as you stagger about making freewith your lewd and lascivious boastswe know you are soft cause we've all seen you dancingwe know you are hard cause we all saw you drinking from noonuntil noon againyou're the boy with the filthy laughyoure the boy with the arab strapstrapped to the table with suits from the shelter shopcomic celebrity takes a back seat as the cigarette catchesand sets off the smoke alarmwhat do you make of the cool set in London?you're constantly updating your hit parade of you ten biggest wanksshe's a waitress and she's got style
Sunday bathtime could take a while
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