The Gallery Songtext
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My building's full of little holes with heads in
Staring at the street
They sometimes topple forwards
Then stick at one another
Passing freaks
They rarely speak and though I don't feed them
Still they keep their double (their quadruple) chins
Their garbage bins are emptied each day
By night waiting with lights off, their cats out,
their wives in -
Staring at the street
They sometimes topple forwards
Then stick at one another
Passing freaks
They rarely speak and though I don't feed them
Still they keep their double (their quadruple) chins
Their garbage bins are emptied each day
By night waiting with lights off, their cats out,
their wives in -
They're peeping!
They're peeping at the methylated man who spits in a can
Spreads his hands for silver
Pans for gutter gold
He mutters old forgotten songs his father taught him
Rolls on the floor
He rolls in alcoves
Gets caught in waterfalls down rotting walls
(He's bored)
My friends applaud, throw pennies and wait. . .
Peeping from the gallery
They're peeping at the methylated man who spits in a can
Spreads his hands for silver
Pans for gutter gold
He mutters old forgotten songs his father taught him
Rolls on the floor
He rolls in alcoves
Gets caught in waterfalls down rotting walls
(He's bored)
My friends applaud, throw pennies and wait. . .
Peeping from the gallery
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