After many weeks in the wilderness we came upon a strange, exotic land.
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A land of happy hours,
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Where the sky is always grey and the food exceptionally greasy.
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We drank strange brown liquids,
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And our stomachs swelled up like balloons.
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A thousand fake orgasms every night
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Behind thick dralon curtains.
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They go on and on and on and on.
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We sank back into mauve P.V.C. sofas.
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Outside dogs roamed the streets
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And the rooftops glistened in the rain
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But now we've grown so fat we can no longer pass through the door.
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So stay we must,
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Sprouting black hair beneath bri-nylon underwear.
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Yes, here we will stay
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These nights of suburbia go on and on and on and on and on.
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Styloroc Nites Of Suburbia
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| Pulp |
