Spy, spy, pretty girl
|
I see you see me through your window
|
Don't turn your nose up
|
Well, you can if you need to, you won't be the first or last
|
|
It must strain you to look down so far from your father's house
|
And I know what a louse like me in his house could do for you
|
I'm the Cream
|
Of the Great Utopia Dream
|
And you're the gleam
|
In the depths
|
of your banker's spleen
|
|
I'm a phallus in pigtails
|
And there's blood on my nose
|
And my tissue is rotting
|
Where the rats chew my bones
|
And my eye sockets empty
|
See nothing but pain
|
I keep having this brainstorm
|
About twelve times a day
|
So now, you could spend the morning walking with me, quite amazed
|
As I'm Unwashed
|
and Somewhat Slightly Dazed
|
|
I got eyes in my backside
|
That see electric tomatoes
|
On credit card rye bread
|
There are children in washrooms
|
Holding hands with a queen
|
And my heads full of murders
|
Where only killers scream
|
So now you could spend the morning talking with me quite amazed
|
Look out, I'm raving mad and Somewhat Slightly Dazed
|
|
Now you run from your window
|
To the porcelain bowl
|
And you're sick from your ears
|
To the red parquet floor
|
And the Braque on the wall
|
Slides down your front
|
And eats through your belly
|
It's very catching
|
So now, you should spend the mornings lying to your father quite amazed
|
About the strange Unwashed and Happily Slightly Dazed.
|
|
-----------------
|
Unwashed And Somewhat Slightly Dazed
|
| David Bowie |
