The door was open just enough To let last night’s ghost sneak away Like morning mist floating high Disappearing into the day Birdsong with its broken...
Gloucester Green Bus Station 2 o clock saturday afternoon Sun is out burning scalps I’m trying hard not to swoon I met you a week ago And now I am in...
It’s not called a disco anymore It’s a club A works do coerced me I’m too old to be young at heart My prejudices are like tattoos So I pretended not...
The jingles play loud Seducing the crowd With the cheesiest shit From the musically dead But you’re easily led By the costumes and bells And the crap on the shelves That you know you don’t need But you can’t stop the greed Merry Christmas