Legendary Pink Dots Neon Mariners
The cha cha bar was sliding and we swam across the Scotchman on the rocks (so many rocks . . . and glass and sand.) In shock we docked in Fish Head Harbour where the lights were dimmed. (Locked in, we couldn't see a thing . . . ) The floor was tin, the sky was oil, the air was poisoned lager and the juke box pumped out schlager because no-one pulled the plugs (so many plugs . . . and sparks.) The live wives kept us dancing. Dance in brine, dance in seaweed.