Red velvet curtains
imply something new,
but all the doors behind them
Lead to avenues explored.

Bright neon lights,
merely gassy reactions.
All the chemicals of the Periodic Table
add up to different sums.

Silly little scenesters,
with trilby hats and sunglasses at night,
think that they're so special
even though their style's passe.

I can smell the varnish
of polished wooden floors
like corridors to another state,
your philosophy is stale.

So, make mine a double,
might as well drink like a fish.
Change my lungs for gills
then I can breath what I absorb.

Everybody's acting
like they're on coke when they are not.
Plastic personas, imaginary images,
excuse me while I stand back.

Slow dancing to jazz,
make believe razzmatazz.
The gitlz, the glamour, the glitterati
pause for the paparazzi to flash.

Wait for Nostradamus,
to predict another shift.
With all the hairspray we have in here
the o-zone could be fixed.

Shadows in the dappled drapes,
the DJ playing 10CC.
Is my mockery unjust, you ask,
or is it straight and to the point?

The sad thing is I'm lonely,
I'm only here to try and get laid,
but I'm sat here writing this alone...
outcasts always scorn where they don't belong

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