Trash Can Sinatras The Hairy Years
I lingered within earshot of the seaside souvenier shopfront (Itchy fingers sweating on a snoscene, little puppy eyes dart) A tiny world is ending, detective is descending (All the savings gone on bloody day one, little butterflies start) Here began my hairy years Set me down on a country lane myself Drinking myself lame Call, collect and gather me, take me intravenously Or I'll just prowl the hills It's hares and hunts, you scour the country We are not Jack and Jill Why do you tumble after me?