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Day seventeen of our five weeks away
Pull over and stop off the Hume highway
Dusty noon in a town called "Hell"
Just toilets and a tavern and a servo
as well
Petrol station's got nuthin' but chips
And I can't forget the taste of your lips
Your lips
Your lips (or something)
Where were we supposed to go?
I'm lost but I hope that it doesn't show
Jelly shooters and panadol
Are digging me an even deeper hole
And when I turn around
I have to try and keep from falling down
If you want a good time, give me a
call
Is written in texta on the bathroom wall
Where did our future go?
If you can find it, will you let me know?
I love to love you when you go away
But now you're here I've got nothing to
say
Actors who forget their lines
Can imitate and improvise
But it's just a fiction, their affection
Is just a helpful stage direction
I guess it's the end of romance
Your cold hands upon my gonads
Now
Now Now Now Now Now
Where did all our clothing go?
If you can find it will you let me know?
You look so pretty on crumpled sheets
Like the last dim sim I'm too full to
eat
I don't know where you get your appeal
Like a hung over Chinese breakfast meal
Now our self respect is a wreck
Who's gonna pick up the cheque?
I'm gonna run you over in my turbocharged
four wheel drive station wagon
And then I'm going to put it in reverse
and do it again.
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