I feel like rubbish flotsamFloating on a seaI feel seasick completely rottenDrowning in a shipwreckCaused by meStaggering up a road less travelledToo late! The roads unravelledMust be some kind of gift to fuck up so badlyWhat could have been your lifeStanding scratching in your ruined gardenI feel like a procession of oneI wonder if youre still aliveWell your lights are on but now it starts to rainWell you waited but I never cameIt must be some kind of gift to fuck it up so badlyIm trying to steer with the edge of a knifeWhat could have been my lifeTheres a cat hanging roundWho seems to know meSeems to agreeThat my chance has goneAnd as my life begins to unravelIm grinning on tiptoe on your gravelTrying to glimpse a shelter from the rainWell you waited you waited but I never cameIt must take some kind of gift to fuck it up so badlyThe valley of rift that I survey so sadlyI feel the pain between my shoulder bladesThis could have been my lifeAnd Im staggering up a road less travelledToo late! The roads unravelledIts some kind of gift to fuck up so badlyWhat could have been your life

I miss the moment we never metWe pass like ships on the seaAnd yet a part of me is aware of the factThat you mean nothing to meTheres a sun in a parallel worldTheres a sea in a parallel worldYou love me in a parallel worldI believe in a parallel worldAnd when I saw you on SaturdayMy arms seemed glued to my sideI had the line prepared to say to youBut my voice just died when I triedTheres a sun in a parallel worldTheres a sea in a parallel worldYou love me in a parallel worldSo I believe in a parallel worldAnd if empathy were realYoud understand the way I feelAnd wed sail to watch the dolphinsAs they move across the EarthYou were always quite the talkerBut the silence would be smarterIn your Quadrophenia parkaAnd my Sherlock Holmes deerstalkerMrs Porter and her daughterIn their villa in MallorcaAnd the ship would cross the waterMrs Porter Mrs PorterIn a Sherlock Holmes deerstalkerTheres a sun in a parallel worldTheres a sea in a parallel worldYou love me in a parallel worldSo I believe in a parallel world

Like good Stakhanovites well work to change it allWhen rotten beams support a gallery it fallsThey have the old school tie the fast-revolving doorThey own the grand hotel the liner and the shoreThey have the telephone they have the rubbish truckThey have the copper wire of all the rotten luckWe must work twice as hard now mining their coalAnd maybe one day we will own our own soulsLike good Stakhanovites well work to change it allWhen rotten beams support a gallery it must fallWe must work twice as hard now mining their coalAnd maybe one day we will own our own soulsLike good Stakhanovites well work to change it allWhen rotten beams support a gallery it must fall

I run into the devil down at the crossroadsHes got a fly for a faceThen it starts raining time is running backwardsMy tongue is hanging out and Im staring into spaceAnd the fly goes buzzTell me Dostoyevsky was wrong about human natureTell me we are more than just a total waste of spaceTell me there is goodness in the heart of every creatureTell me that through culture we will one day touch graceAnd the fly goes buzzFudged in time like an insect crushed in ointmentNothing ever comes to the intelligent manSo dangle like a spider on the thread of disappointmentYour just desserts arent even ice creamAnd the fly goes buzzDown amongst the gypsies I met Howard DevotoTold him that the devil had been singing his praiseI said Only you and me and DostoyevskyCan really understand the general malaiseAnd the fly goes buzz

Im not the flighty gecko you chased into the crack in the stumpOf the sycamore treeRonald said adjusting was the last thing I should do when Im drunkBecause the worlds the diseaseThe head splits from the bodyThe decay begins to face its own decayIts like the tail that wags the dogCinnamons the smell of someone who would rather be aliveA reciprocal girlA person who is stubbornly releasing all the drones in the hiveIts a reciprocal worldWhen the head splits from the bodyThe decay begins to face its own decayIts like the quack that leads the duckAnd Ronald tells me madness is the only sane response to the machineTo things as they areI see the exhibitionist believes it only happens in a dreamOr in the back of a carAnd I was going round and round in the Columbia garage with coloured lights flashingBut only in my headThe Russian girl was Wednesday I think she ran away but thats okayIve still got her underwearAnd Im becoming all the characters I used to sing about but theyNeed the airAnd its the journey that exhausts you not burying your headache in the fireIn an obstacle worldAnd Ronald says hes kissed the lips of every live electrical wireOn the Golbourne RoadThe head splits from the bodyThe decay begins to face its own decayIts just the fish youve got to fryTo disappear is easy when inside you feel youre cut into threeIn the shape of a pearI always wonder how I carry on when things are so unrealBut Ronald saysBy being everywhereThe head splits from the bodyThe decay begins to face its own decayIts just the pig youve got to fly

Time is a chloroformNature a horror filmSlow-motion holocaustFlowing pastWe are the star of ageWe swallow every ageTiny philosopherPoet-turned-sageNature dismembers usBreaks and Decembers usErasing our wanderlustSlowing us downGoing on for centuriesIs how were meant to beLike an enormous treeWinged through with historyTiny philosopherPoet-turned-sageNature Decembers usSo be adventurousHere comes the TerminusSic transit usSic transit usSic transit usSic transit usSic transit usSic transit us

The Pasha can do anything that he wantsBut he mostly wants sex and cocaineThe Pasha can have anyone that he wantsEating ice cream and candy all dayThe Pasha treats people like Turkish delightAnd he swallows them down like a snackHe summons his whores and goes down on all foursAnd before them brings everything backThe Pasha is wealthyThe Pasha is SelfishThe Pashas the monster in youThe Pasha is simply what happens to peopleWhen people have nothing to doDesires and requirements in dull-speaking tyrantsAnd nothing is ever enoughThe Pasha can meet everyone in the worldAnd still remain empty of loveThe Pasha is sickSick of the sinSick up to here with himselfHis Puritan nephew will execute himTo save him from doing it himselfThe Pasha is boredBored of his whoresBut he doesnt like falling in loveThe Pasha says OuchTheres a [?] in my couchThe Pashas [?]The Pasha is living all day in pajamasHe hardly wears anything elseThe Pasha is healthy but sick of the dramaThe drama of being himselfShould he go shopping or order a hangingAnd should he go hunting for gameIt all becomes boring when [?]And everyday feels just the sameThe Pasha is sickSick of the deathSick to the teeth of himselfHis Puritan nephew will execute himTo save him from doing it himselfThe Pasha is sickSick in his skinSick up to here with himselfHis Puritan nephew will execute himTo save him from doing it himself

Its not as if you smell of pooBut everyones avoiding youNothings coming out of you thats interesting at allOh no here you comeKeen to corner everyoneWith boring stuff we honestly dont really need to hearAnd you keep hanging roundRunning me to groundFind me something fresh or find some other fox to houndDo something anythingTo make my heart singMake me want to ever want to see your face againYou say stupid thingsWhy are we listeningWhen you dont even really seem to listen to yourselfSo lets go different waysYou speak in clichesWhen Ive got nothing new to say my lips are sealedSay something anythingTo make my heart singNo motherfucker in this world wants a boring friendSo why not surprise yourselfWhy not turn into someone elseLose one ton of ugly fat by cutting off your headBe Austrian AustralianReptile RastafarianBe anything that interests me or just leave me aloneDo something anythingTo make my heart singMake me want to ever want to see your face againSay something say anythingTo make my heart singNo motherfucker in this world wants a boring friendIm not one for naming namesEveryone should up their gameNo-one clever ever has to be the boring friend

You will never beat the clockYou will never whip itIn fact the clock beats youMight as well admit itGiving birth hurts like hellChildren cost a bucketBut without them we will fallSo whip the womb now fuck itWombwhip pussywhipCrack crackWombwhip cockwhipBiology the bomb the clockBetter womb- than tomb-whippedThe coffin is a hungry boxRussian dolls a better bossWe need people in the worldGet to work now girls!Russian dolls may wombwhip youBut boys are wombwhipped tooWombwhip pussywhipCrack crackWombwhip cockwhip

We gave him our trust that bugger the shepherdThat leper the shepherd who fucked all our sheepWe gave him our trust that bugger the shepherdHe worked in our name and got paid with our feeAnd the butcher did love him that bugger the shepherdThe butcher did call him the leader of the gangAnd gave him protection wherever he travelledFleecing our sheep and roving our landsHe drove a Rolls Royce that bugger the shepherdHe drove a Rolls Royce and he smoked a cigarHe wore a gold necklace that leper the shepherdHe buggered our lambs and we paid for the carHe fucked all our sheep in the back of the RollsFucked all our sheep and he fucked all our lambsHe pushed his fat fist deep into their bowelsAnd then he came grinning and shook all our handsWe should have killed him and skinned him that leper the shepherdBut the butcher did call him the leader of the gangAnd give him protection wherever he travelledAnd so he died old a very rich manThey buried him upright that leper the shepherdIn a bunker of concrete with a padlock of steelThey buried him upright that bugger the shepherdAnd the butcher is still in command of the hill

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Pinocchio Lyrics

Lyricist- Hit Lyricists Now Fogotten

Artist- Momus

Album- Selected Hits For All Moods

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Did you hear the news about Peggy Sue?She married PinocchioThey got photoshopped down at the zooHe lied when he said "I do"Pinocchio is the boy with the noseAnd when he lies, it growsAnd even here in TokyoI hate PinocchioGet me a witness in a slit gownGet me Ginger Baker from CreamGet me Joe Cocker ...

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Posted on 21 Mar 2025, this text provides information on Selected Hits For All Moods related to Hit Lyricists Now Fogotten. Please note that while accuracy is prioritized, the data presented might not be entirely correct or up-to-date. This information is offered for general knowledge and informational purposes only, and should not be considered as a substitute for professional advice.

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