AFTER THE PARTY

AFTER THE PARTY After the party I awoke on a desert island At least I thought so, with the blinding sun And a view of all those swaying palm trees Well, perhaps it was me who was swaying My head was thumping as if bongos playing And wet with sweat at over eighty degrees I guess that last night must have been fun But just where I am now, I don’t understand Perhaps it’s the Tahitian picture on the wall And the bright morning sun is streaming in I am wearing my underpants front to back Probably a game, or a sort of joke on me But is that the ocean out there that I can see Maybe it was daybreak before I hit the sack So many cocktails made with pink hued gin It’s such a pity I cannot think straight at all There’s still noisy laughter outside in the hall Just the usual cheap upper floor motel room It may be my own, I suppose I should check My mouth is so dry and my head is spinning Have I been drunk from the very beginning But is this a floral garland around my neck It can only be my vivid imagination, I assume I’m not on an exotic tropical island after all