Bad Night At The Charing Cross Sundown

It was more than flesh & blood could stand:
The alien who smoked marijuana
Looked like a huge contorted bird of prey
And smelled of hot chilli and dynamite!
No - there was no concept
Though he lived like Sinatra - well sort of
Plugged into the nerve ends of Naked City
Where the rooms invaded the mind
And rock’n’roll lost the revolution
Wearing shades and looking frightened
He became a smoocher in the gay bars
(There should have been more pictures)
It was a cue for pandemonium:
He supposed it was down to the feeling
Wearing personalised clothing
In what used to be an abattoir
Alone against the rivers & side streets
Rape - murder - just a book away
Worth twenty five million dollars