A stranger room, ex-skag ex-pat soliloquy
Dreams of what he wants to be
He reels and snorts til he can't see
And spits, speaking pidgeon english to me
The grope, the motivation, his day of yay
A bed where fiend cloud-jumpers lay
And dance in time to beats, delay
But he just stands, complains, coke man
Unable to do things normal people can
Relate, converse and forward plan
Or being an immoderate fan
Of avant-garde noise math-rock bands
Nothing more, nightmare, hands pale
The conversation's getting stale
And so is his trop-fairy face
Fuck, I should just leave the place
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