Mosh Transcript

MOSH TRANSCRIPT

Transcript of Paul 1996 stage performance 'MOSH'

What you're about to see is based on a true story. If you like the show tonight my name's Paul… if you don't like it my name's still Paul. I mean, that's the fucking curse of my existence, and I can't get away from that! It's like the albatross around my neck, the burden I have to carry… you know, when I wake up in the morning, I go in, I look at the mirror and what do I see? I see myself - what a fucking lousy way to start the day! I mean, I'd love to wake up one morning, look in the mirror, and see Cindy Crawford, for instance, but that isn't fucking likely to happen at the moment!

And all my friends say, 'Don't worry about it, be happy, be happy', and I am happy, and I'm a happy go lucky blissed-out sort of person. I'm very happy. I'm as happy as Larry. Just one question, you know: who the fuck is Larry, and why is he so happy?

Why is it, when you're tripping, you always have to say the word, 'man'? Man this, man that, man the other thing. And why is it, when you're tripping, you always get distracted by the little… 'oh man, look at that - man look at that, that is … oh wow, two of them. Man, that's beautiful. Two hands, twenty five fingers.'

When you're on LSD, the thoughts just come and uh… come and uh… come and uh…

God made flesh. So what? Man made plastic. It's durable, comes in a variety of colours and it lasts a lifetime. When was the last time flesh ever did that?

We're coming to the end of the century, you know, what have we learned? Two things. Two things we can say without a doubt: God is dead, and Elvis is alive.

We have no big gods anymore, we've got lots of little gods. A Little God for this, a Little God for that. We're going back to a pagan belief system. The Little God of the Parking Space. 'Holy Mary, full of grace, let there be a parking space. St Christopher and St Peter, help me find the fucked up meter.'

And as we drive home at night we pray to the Radio God to put on our favourite song. And yes, occasionally the Radio God does play, What About Me? And we pray to the God of Lust, or we pray to the God of Cancer, or we pray to the God of Mastercard to forgive our transactions.

At the end of the century we've learned how to macrame. We've learned how to suck fat out of our bellies with a vacuum cleaner, how to trim nasal hairs, how to squeeze pimples, how to wax bikini lines, how to inject the fat we took out of our bellies back into our penises so we don't have to be embarrassed in the shower or in front of our mates.

But what else have we learned?
We've learned how to drink and drive (how to drink and drive!)
We've learned J Edgar Hoover wore a dress
We've learned that OJ Simpson did it and the dingo was guilty
We've learned that dogs can sue for mental distress
We've learned that children can sue their parents
And no-one can sue Michael Jackson.

Michael Jackson. Do you think he ever wakes up in the morning, goes into the bathroom, looks in the mirror and says, 'who the fuck are you? What are you doing in my house? Get out of my house, man! What the fuck are you doin'…'

We've also learned that little budgerigars, tiny, insignificant little green budgerigars, can die of cancer.
We've learned that drugs are bad for you, unless you get them on prescription.
That coke is also known as toot, whizz and blow.
We've learned that strawberries are good, and the smileys are okay, but the purple longs are the best.

Purple Longs - they are the best. And we pray to the God of Drugs, to send his messenger with a bum bag of plenty. And we pray to the God of Oblivion, to get it over and done with, to get us on, to get us off.

So that's it. We've learned that God is dead, and Elvis is alive.

Agony Of Ecstasy
There's a man in the corner selling what I like,
A medicine chest of happiness designed to get me by.
If you ever find peace, tell me how it feels,
But I bet its small and smooth and in the shape of a pill.

I'm a slave to pleasure in the land of the free,
And the agony of ecstasy is hey, hey, killing me, me, me,
Killing me.

Shake it up like a cocktail made of flesh and bone,
I'm permanently freaked out, now I'm permanently stoned.
I don't know what its cut with, I really do not care,
You're the seller, I'm a client, let the buyer beware.

I'm a slave to pleasure in the land of the freaks,
And the agony of ecstasy is hey, hey, killing me, me, me,
Killing me.

Rave, rave against the dying of the night,
Rave, rave against the dying of the night.
If you're not high enough, what else is there to do?
There's MTM's and coke and speed and lou.
There's grooving in the fast lane, keep the money going round,
There's one pill to get you up, takes two to get you down.
As your pupils dilate and you teeth begin to grind,
Your body starts to burn, and you've fucked up your mind.
Rave, rave against the dying of the night,
Rave, rave against the dying of the night.

I'm a slave to pleasure in the land of the freaks,
And the agony of ecstasy is hey, hey, killing me, me, me,
Killing me.

Rave, rave against the dying of the night,
Rave, rave against the dying of the night.

Lust. Lust is a monster. The God of Lust is a monster, always whispering in your ear, 'just do it. just do it. just do it.' The God of Lust is a Nike ad. And have you ever noticed that no man is ever impotent? I mean, as a male, you could be a headless corpse, covered in mould, flies buzzing around your mouth, and you would still claim you could sustain and maintain an erection. You would still claim you could make someone happy sexually. Even if it was just yourself.

It's the end of the century. We've lost our innocence, we've lost our purpose. But what have we learned?
That Fat Cat does drugs (Fat Cat does drugs!)
How to get a Prince Albert.
That Prince Charles wants to be a tampon
[Something]
Hoover wore a dress
The aliens are with us

If you get a Prince Albert and it's not made of stainless steel it might rust… [something]

That for heavy days, you need a name you can trust.

MOSH!!

Last night, I tried to touch the child within. That's not illegal, okay, it's just a metaphor. To touch that inner, unsoiled part of myself. But inside it was just one big dirty mess. And I thought, why touch the inner man, when the outer man is so accessible? And if beauty comes from within, then I'm stuffed, which is what people have been telling me for years.

Something else they've been saying is 'premature ejaculation'. And I don't actually believe that fucking word exists. If anything it should be 'post-uterus climaxing', because I believe a male should be allowed to come when he wants to come. I think that's a very important aspect of life.

Smack, Bang, You're Dead
You're the killer, oh so careless,
Left your fingerprints up and down the length of my spine.
But like the contours on the map that,
When read right will lead them smack bang to your door.

Smack, bang, you're dead, smack, bang, you're dead,
Smack, bang and you're dead.

I know you want me, I know you need me,
I know you love me, that much was never in doubt.
I know you want me, I know you need me,
I know you love me, that much was never in doubt.

Smack, bang, you're dead, smack bang you're dead,
Smack, bang and you're dead.
Smack, bang, you're dead, smack bang you're dead,
Smack, bang and you're dead.

Now they have you, now they have you,
Followed the tracks and found the way to your heart.
They read the markings, joined the dots and,
Stayed up late and waited for you to fall.

Smack, bang, you're dead, smack bang you're dead,
Smack, bang and you're dead.
Smack, bang, you're dead, smack bang you're dead,
Smack, bang and you're dead.

Nothing you can do can make a difference to me now,
You can't hurt me.
Nothing you can do can make a difference to me now,
You can't hurt me,
You can't hurt me,
Like they hurt me.

There are five stages of grief. Five steps to endure before you come to a deeper understanding of a dilemma. They are:

Anger
Denial
Resentment
Cross-dressing and
Acceptance
Not necessarily in that order. Sometimes cross-dressing comes a bit earlier.
And she turned to me and she said, 'You are always angry. You are always angry'. And I thought, 'I know what I'll do. I'll go out and I'll buy one of those mood rings'. You know, those mood rings? So when she came up and she said, 'Hey Paul, you're a bit tense', I could just look at that mood ring and say, 'Look at that, pale blue. That's fucking calm, that is fucking calm!'

Why is it, when I'm drunk, I can spend hours taking out my contact lenses, before I realise I'm not even wearing any?

'Angry and self-destructive'. Well, when I kill myself, they'll be sorry for calling me self-destructive.

MOSH!!

But mostly in this country, we pray to the God of Cancer. 'Is that brown or black? I'm sure it was brown yesterday … is that going red? I think that's a melanoma, is that a melanoma?' Please God, don't let it be the Big C. But the God of Cancer never listens, never hears. Mainly I believe, because the God of Cancer is deaf. Yes, the God of Cancer is one very very busy God. Unlike the Lotto Gods, who are extremely lazy.

And it just reminded me of those famous words that Simone De Boudoir spoke to Satre in that small Parisian café where they first met: 'You have fuckin' gimpy eyes, mate, I tell ya! You look like a freak! What are ya readin' there, is that a book? [something]'

You're Never Alone
You're never alone,
You're never alone,
Lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely.
You're never alone,
With a mobile phone!

I'm a bit slow on the uptake, right, but she turns to me and she says, 'Is that a mobile phone in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?' and I said, 'Yeah, it's mobile phone' Idiot! Fucking idiot!

And I turned to her and I said, 'If people come back from the dead, do they ever come back from the life, man?' And all the tiles have started to melt behind her head…

Why is it, that every time I go into a bathroom lately, I always find a pubic hair, just there?

And why is it I have no top lip?

Man Without a Lip
Man without a lip,
Only half a kiss!
He's a man without a lip, lip, lip, lip, lip!

Man without a lip,
He's got no lip to sip!
He's a man without a lip, lip, lip, lip, lip!

But I don't think anyone's noticed.

And why is it that Carmelite nuns never, ever tell you when they're coming?
Why is happiness a dry bottom? For me, happiness has always been a wet bottom.
Why is it Edward Woodward likes the letter D so much? Because without it, he'd be E-war Woo-war:
E-war Woo-war E-war
E-war Woo-war E-war
E-war Woo-war E-war

Why is it that male hairdressers are always bald? 'Advanced Hair, yeah yeah'
Why is it that always end with the [something] 'change'?
And why is it I keep seeing signs everywhere saying 'Pocahontas, Pocahontas, Pocahontas'? I mean, I don't even know what a hontas is!
And why is it lemmings jump off cliffs to their deaths? Why can't that be… Jeff Kennett?
Place finger in hand, two taps, finger is gone. Why is it so?
[something]
Hoover wore dress, man a dress!

Then this guy comes over, I don't like him very much. His name's Berry. And he should like this, but for some reason to me, he looks like this:

Why is everything out of focus?
Why is it that Edward Woodward likes the letter W so much? Because without it he'd be Edard Oodard.

Edard Oodard Edard
Edard Oodard Edard
Edard Oodard Edard

And why is it Jesus could say, 'Take and eat, this is my body', yet when I say it, it's considered sexual harassment?

Sleep With Me
Some people say the best thing about you is me,
I don't know if I'd be that quick to agree.
I'm in the terror of night's dreams,
I'm waiting over here for you to take advantage (Take advantage of me),
Take advantage of me (Take advantage of me),
Take advantage of me (Take advantage of me),
I'm waiting over here for you to take advantage of me.

So when you come, come see me,
And when you call, you can call on me,
And when you fall, you fall for me,
And that's alright, fall for me tonight.

Wake up to yourself and sleep with me (Wake up, wake up),
Wake up to yourself and sleep with me (Wake up, wake up).
Who will you turn to to turn you on?
Who will you run to when the others have gone?
Stop your struggle now and let it be,
Wake up to yourself, and sleep with me,
Wake up to yourself, and sleep with me (Wake up, wake up),
Wake up, wake up and sleep with me

It's a weird thing, a very weird thing, I mean, gender preference, desire … sometimes you just need someone, anyone, to be your friend. I should know, you know. I should know how confusing sex is, because for thirteen years I was celibate. Then at the age of fourteen I thought, 'Fuck it'.

So it's still fairly early on in the evening, right, and I find myself over in the corner, by the curtains. And I'm chatting to this guy, and he would have to be one of the biggest losers, sad fuckers that the world has ever seen. But he's talking to me, and somehow that makes me feel special. So how sad am I?

We're talking for quite some time, and then he said something that really terrified me. I mean, really scared me. He looked me straight in the eye and he said, 'Hey babe, let me buy you a drink. Cause normally girls don't talk to me.' He thought I was a woman! Me, a girl! I mean, how ripped would you have to be to think I was a woman? More ripped than … Jason Donovan!

And I wasn't even at the cross-dressing stage of grief yet!

I had these thoughts running through my mind … how far would I go on a first date? Upstairs inside, downstairs outside? How would I handle it? How would he handle it? How long before he found out about my terrible, terrible secret? How long before he realised that I was his worst nightmare, not his best wet dream?

And it just reminded me of those classic words that Antony spoke to Cleopatra, that Josephine spoke to Napoleon, that Gomer spoke to Rock. The very same words that Audrey spoke to Rex in that classic film of subdued homo-erotic content, My Fair Lady:

'How kind of you to let me come'

Why can't a woman be more like a man?

She's My Man
How kind of you to let me come.
Why can't a woman be more like a man?
How kind of you to let me come.
Why can't a woman be more like a man?
How kind of you to let me come.

Moira, Moira, Moira, Moira,
She's the last Charlie's Angel out of heaven.
She fell to Earth with a tale to tell,
Quicksilver tongue with all accessories.
Born in a disco on the East side of hell (Hey, yay, yay, yay),
Go tell Starsky and Hutch (Hey, yay, yay, yay).
That I want to confess (Hey, yay, yay, yay),
And they can take me in.

She, sheeeee, she's my man, she's my man,
She's the last Charlie's Angel out of heaven.
The groove you find when the needle gets stuck,
She takes the back road less travelled,
Makes all the difference when playtime gets rough (Hey, yay, yay, yay).
She's the maid by Gente (Hey, yay, yay, yay),
That's when she gets away (Hey, yay, yay, yay),
Mr. Canny, its true.

She, sheeeee, she's my man, she's my man,
I know what boys like, I know what guys want,
I know what boys like - Boys like me.
To all the girls I've loved, to all the girls I've loved,
To all the girls I've loved before.
Why can't a woman be more like a man?
How kind of you to let me come.

She, sheeeee, she's my man, she's my man,
She, sheeeee, she's my man, she's my man,
She, sheeeee, she's my man, she's my man.

When my brother had a sex change operation, he found the woman he was looking for all his life. Himself. And my father got the daughter he always wanted, you know - one that could piss standing up.

My father was a good man, a fair man, with us kids. No matter what game you played with Dad, he'd always tie one arm behind his back. Didn't matter if it was chess, checkers or Monopoly. Hard, but fair.

That reminds me, he taught me about sex. Jeez, it hurt. Don't laugh at that, please. That was wrong, it was wrong of me to say that joke, it was a cheap shot at the whole father-son relationship thing. I shouldn't have done it… Besides, it didn't hurt that much.

Three rules Dad had in regards to sex. Three important rules:

'Never ever force your woman if she's got a headache.
You treat her like a lady, even if she's a man.
You never ever ever get your sexual lubricant confused with your tiger balm - ah, memories for some people down there - cause I'll tell you something Paul: KY does nothing for a headache.'

Water-based Lubricant Gel
Water-based lubricant gel,
Water-based lubricant gel,
For every boy and girl.

When you have sex, make it safe,
Smear it on your dick, the taste of,
Water-based glacial gel.

Its water based where others are not,
It'll help you out when you're in a tight spot!
Its water-based ... glacial ... gel! (Glacial gel),
You know you're soaking in it!

I'm a bit of a loser. There you go, I said it. I'm only saying it really, because there's a whole row of people down there who I think can really understand that. I mean, it's not just that you're sitting in the front row, which is stupid enough - it's your clothing style, the way your body language is - your haircuts mainly, but… I am. I'm like that, man. I'm one of the few people in the world who could justify calling cosmetic surgery corrective surgery. I mean, look at the cheeks, look at the nose, look at the fucking ears…

And look at that … can you see that? Can you see that? Hey? Of course you can't, cause it's not fucking there! I've got no top lip! It leaves me with half a mouth!

Where is that coming from?

But the worst thing about me would have to be … well, after the weedy little arms and the gangly little body. And I've got these freckles all over the gangly little body… it's quite embarrassing. I'll be into the sex thing with someone and they'll often get distracted and start playing join the dots. And if there's more than two of us in the bed, I get forgotten completely - they start making star charts up my fucking back!

It's upsetting. And she turned to me and she said, 'You are a hairy freak!' And I said, 'Look babe, I may have a hairy bum, but it is very, very pimply. And I may have a short penis, but it is very, very thin. And I may have a genital wart, but it is very, very large. And pustulent. And weeps and weeps…'

And then I thought to myself about my hero, Edward Woodward, who is definitely not a loser. And I was wondering to myself what Edward Woodward would do, if Edward Woodward had a hair problem. Would Edward Woodward do this, or would Edward Woodward do that? I couldn't figure it out, so I asked my friend Alan. Alan said he'd probably go for the full body wax. I wondered, would Edward Woodward go the wax? Well, would he, Alan? Woody Allen? It's a pun! I hate puns!

I was coming here, right, and I saw these hairdressing salons - they're always doing it. Why do they do that? Names like 'Kutmandu'. 'Kutmandu? Book me an appointment for eleven o'clock at Kutmandu!' Lettuce Do Hair, or Hair We Go Again. Or my personal favourite: 'Locks on the Run.'

[something] My Hair Lady, Hairesy, [something], Hairport, [something], Hoover wore a dress man [something]

So this guy who is quickly becoming my best friend - Berry - comes over, and he should look like this, but for some reason to me, he looks like this: (Berry falls to the floor in convulsions at this point, drumming his heels on the floor).

And she turned to me, and said, 'Don't be upset, but he is dead.' And I knew he was dead, and in that moment I knew that I loved him. That he was all I had ever loved in the world, all I ever would love, that he was number one and nothing could ever replace him. I got him a little box, but he wouldn't quite fit so I had to snap his neck and shove his head in under his little wing. A tiny little green body, a tuft of pale blue on his head. Berry.

To cheer myself up later in the day I was reading Cosmo - we all do it - and it was one of those articles where ten Australian women describe their most fantastic, mindblowing, powerful orgasm. I was quite embarrassed, I went a bit red, because… I recognised seven of the stories.

And she turned to me and she said, 'When you run a spell check on your name, does it come up 'wanker'?' And I said, 'No, it comes up 'doormat' - McDermott, doormat - wipe your feet on me … Mr Doormat… spell check, mobile phone, you fucking idiot!'

And she said, 'Paul, why don't you just wear a colostomy bag around your mouth to catch all the shit that dribbles out of it?'

We're losers. All of us are losers. But that isn't a bad thing. We should celebrate the fact that we're losers. Clap along if you feel it … if you're a loser, celebrate it!

Sad Fuckers of the World
You're the well dressed kid at school,
That all the teacher crapped on.
The loser's loser that other losers spat on.
The computer hack with the pimpled back,
Who everyone ignored.
The bigmouth Casanova who never ever scored.

You're the badly dressed, the dispossessed,
The mild, the weak, the meek.
The lust crazed voyeur who's still to shy to speak.
You're everyone who waits,
In the hope the phone will ring.
The one who dreams of vengeance and yet never does a thing.

You're the one in the remainder bin,
The one they left alone.
You're all the ones from somewhere else all the ones who have no home.

Sad fuckers of the world unite,
We may be ugly, but have some pride.
We were born to fail, not born to hide,
Sad fuckers of the world unite.

We watch the lifestyles,
Of the stupid and the dumb.
We were born to fail like some were born to run.
But there's millions of us out there,
Who cannot bear the mirror.
Who've escaped the fate of hessian sacks,
And drowning in the river.
We're unpopular, ugly, people laugh behind our backs.
Our relationships fail,
We're lousy in the sack.
We're the idiot savante,
Without the savante.
But every single on of us was at least a loser once.

Sad fuckers of the world, cut loose,
I was born this way, what's your excuse?
When you're nothing, you've got nothing to lose,
Sad fuckers of the world cut loose.

Others in this world,
Who are quick to criticize.
Hidden roses just like us,
The thorn in their sides.
They're the rich, the talented and the ludicrously attractive.
They dress well, have great parties,
Are physically fit, and sexually active.
But they're terrified of us, (yes, us),
The freaks, the geeks, the losers.
United in our pride now, we'll let no-one else abuse us.

The winners' winning streak,
Is almost at an end.
And why, just look around you,
There's more of us than them.

Sad fuckers of the world unite,
Who gives a toss about our plight?
We will live long and meaningless lives,
Sad fuckers of the world unite.

Sons of God
Sons of God
hear his holy word,
Gather round the table of the Lord.
Eat his body, drink his blood,
Poke his eyes out, bite his nose.
Halleloo, hallelo, hallelujah.

Do you think Michael Jackson, right, ever just wakes up in the morning, looks in the mirror and says, 'Shit. If it wasn't for that little mole, I never would have thought of it.'

God. God. Budgerigars. What sort of God gives a budgerigar cancer? I mean, how much cancer of the bladder does it take to kill a budgerigar? How big is a budgerigar's bladder to begin with? What sort of attention to detail would God have to have?… Thousands die in a mudslide in Peru, yet God takes a little bit of time out to dispense a malignant tumour to the bladder of a bird.

Freckles. Freckles are God's way of hiding cancer. He loves putting the cancer right there, in the middle of the freckle. I'm not talking about the skin discolouration here, sun kisses - I'm talking about the freckle, the date, the blow-hole, the anus - because God loves playing hide the tumour, right up the back of the colon! Right in the back there, next to the lower intestine. Cause they'll never think to look there. And if they find it, they'll be too embarrassed to talk about it.

Have you ever noticed this, people? Ever noticed this? A little spot of blood on the toilet paper? Oh, very quiet now, aren't we!? Just me is it then!? A little spot of blood - what is it doing there? Piles? Haemorrhoids? Cancer, cancer, cancer!

Don't worry about that, that'll be gone tomorrow. That little spot of blood, that'll be gone tomorrow - whoops! There it is again!

I find that I worry these days more than ever before. I've been worrying about cancer. I've been worrying about failure. The other day I faked an orgasm for the first time in my life. Woo-oooo… wooo-oooo… here comes Thomas the Tank Engine pulling into the station… wooo-ooo… wooo-oooo… letting off some steam… wooo-ooooo… wooo-oooo… done.

And it wasn't that embarrassing, because I was on the phone at the time. I was doing the phone sex thing. I find it really difficult to be intimate on the phone … especially when someone's hammering on the booth, waiting to use it. 'Hey you, what are you doing in there mate? This is a public phone booth. Have you got tissues to wipe that up?'

M-O-S-H!!
Aren't they brilliant? Aren't they fantastic?

I was actually speaking to Johnny Young the other day… and he said, 'there's life after Young Talent Team". And I think Johnny would know.

The weird thing is I felt better about faking it than actually doing it, and I don't know why. The other weird thing about…

MOSH!!

Why, as we approach the end of the century, have we become this society that is completely out of control and hedonistic and self obsessed? What have we lost that has made us so numb, so in need of momentary pleasure? We all have desire that is forbidden. When the Ayatollah Khomeini. he wanted to reinstate these ancient Muslim laws about copulation with certain animals. You can have sex with a horse, or a goat, but you couldn't have sex with a pig. And there's the problem. As soon as you're told you can't have something, that is of course what you desire most. So sure, while you're chockablock up that goat, your hands massaging its leathery teats, your tongue snaking up the ridge of its spine to tickle its ear, the thoughts racing through your skull would be of the sweet honey of that untouchable pig.

And the thing about a pig is, right … or the thing about a goat is, rather - it doesn't tear - care. It doesn't care. In that moment of post-coital bliss, it doesn't look at you with those big cow eyes - mainly because it's a goat - it doesn't look at you with big cow eyes and say, 'Hey baby, what are you thinking?' 'Well, to be completely honest with you, I'm thinking about pork. I'm thinking about great swinging hunks of bacon. I'm looking at your cloven hoof baby, and I'm dreaming of pigs' trotters. I wanna go the whole hog! I wanna go the hog's hole!'

The weird thing is, when I finally snag that porker, when I … [tape fades out]

Rush hour! There's another one. Why do they call it rush hour when no-one is going anywhere?

She turned to me and she said, 'You are angry, and you're a child.' And I said, 'I'm not a child, I'm not a child, I'm not a child! I am a dynamic interesting charismatic and vibrant human being! And that is not just the cocaine talking!'

And I thought, why not try it? Go and have a massage. Calm down for a sauna (??) Pay sixty bucks for someone you don't even know, to touch your body all over, you don't even come … well …

In our day we've learnt [something]
We've learned some people get sexual gratification from vacuum cleaners … like Hoovers!

We've also learned at the end of the century, men, regardless of race, creed or colour, are essentially arseholes. Men can never, will never say two things: 'I love you' and 'Let me sleep in the wet patch'. I love the wet patch! I'm Brer Rabbit in the wet patch. I like the way it gets all crusty on your upper thigh… so you have to chisel it off in the morning. I love how it's like [something].

Shut Up and Kiss Me
Caught by your smile under a blushing moon,
You were the only one left there.
Words poured like wine over an open wound,
You were the only one left there.
With sky-borne blue-grey eyes (kiss me now),
Sky-borne blue-grey eyes (kiss me now).
Kiss me now, kiss me now, kiss me now.

The pale light falls over a broken bed,
You were the only one left there.
Cold hands in mine, lips bruised and black,
You were the only one left there.
With ageless blue-grey eyes (kiss me now),
Ageless blue grey eyes (kiss me now).
Kiss me now, kiss me now, kiss me now.

The cool of the night fell on us like a ghost,
You were the only one left there.
And I wept as a child, wept for what I had lost,
You were the only one left there.
With blood-red tear-stained eyes,
Blood red tear stained eyes.
Blood-red tear-stained eyes.

Shut up and kiss me now, kiss me now, kiss me now,
I have been patient, I've done all I can.
Shut up and kiss me now, kiss me now, kiss me now,
Feels like its over, it never began.
Just shut up, just shut up, just shut up, and kiss me,
Shut up, just shut up, just shut up and kiss me.
Shut up, just shut up, just shut up and kiss me now.

[something missing here]

Isn't it funny when you're on magic mushrooms? That's it, it's just fucking funny when you're on magic mushrooms.

And she turned to me and she said, 'You still haven't accepted the fact that it's over. You haven't accepted the fact that you've ruined your life. You haven't accepted the fact that you've lied. Not once, but continuously, over and over and over again. You're still stuck in one of the first four stages of grief.'
And I said, 'Stuff you!'
And she went, 'Ah! Anger.'
And I said, 'It is not. It may be a lot of things, but it is not anger.'
And she went, 'Ah! Denial.'
And I went, 'Hey babe, it's all your fault anyway, it is all your fault.'
And she went, 'Ah! Resentment. And just one last thing before you storm out of here, okay? I don't really think that the pale blue taffeta frock really goes with the houndstooth halter-neck and the 'take me home and fuck me' white slingbacks.'
And you know something? When I looked at myself in a full length mirror, I accepted that.

Auto Sexuality
I can tell by your speedo that you're new to the game
(Eewah, oomah, eeah, eemah, oomah, eeah),
You got the dirty little chassis that my poor heart craves
(Eewah, oomah, eeah, eemah, oomah, eeah).
You're custom made for me (aah),
You've got the gear I need (aah).
You're custom built for speed, La Circa `73 (aah),
(Eewah, oomah, eeah, eemah, oomah, eeah),
(Eewah, oomah, eeah, eemah, oomah, eeah).

Turn me over, baby, turn me over, baby.
Turn me over, baby, I'm ready for love.
Turn me over, baby, turn me over, baby.
Turn me over, baby, I'm ready for love.
Let me check your spark until you're running good
(Eewah, oomah, eeah, eemah, oomah, eeah),
I'm your Lube Mobile, let me check under your hood
(Eewah, oomah, eeah, eemah, oomah, eeah).
Custom made for speed (aah),
A bumpy dream (aah).
Loose head, mean machine, La Circa `73 (aah),
(Eewah, oomah, eeah, eemah, oomah, eeah),
(Eewah, oomah, eeah, eemah, oomah, eeah).

I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready,
Turn me over, turn me over (hey!).
Turn me over, turn me over,
I'm ready for love, I'm ready for love,
I'm ready for love, I'm ready for love.

Turn me over, baby, turn me over, baby,
Turn me over, baby, turn me over, baby.
STOP!
In the name of love.

I looked around, and everyone in the room was like marshmallow people. And I realised that I was a marshmallow person as well. And I kept wondering, 'Who let us out of the plastic bag?'

And then someone came over and they said, 'Drowning is good.'
And I said, 'Drowning is good? Compared to what is drowning good?'
And they said, 'Well, compared to say, burning to death.'
And I thought, 'Shit yeah.'
Compared to burning to death, drowning would be fantastic. Compared to say, falling face first into a chip fryer at McDonalds, drowning would be an absolute laugh. Compared to say, parachuting into the blades of a helicopter, drowning would be bliss. Compared to say, having seven dwarves urinate into your eyelids while a bearded woman with elephantiasis of the tongue regurgitated phlegm into your lungs as Tibetan monks wrapped your body in razor wire and young children reading the poems of [someone] doused you in petrol, drowning would be absolutely beautiful. I mean, compared to being run over by a Vespa driven by say, Kim Beazley, drowning would be an absolute joy.

But tonight, I don't want to burn to death. I don't even want to think about burning to death. Because that's quite bad for a marshmallow person. And on this purple long, on this really strong LSD, if I even think about burning to death, very soon, I will be.

L.S.D.J.
I am the L.S.D.J.,
I have come to make the way.
Clear for those who must follow (Got a message it's a mayday).

I am the alpha, the omega,
The destroyer, the deceiver.
Write this down with love,
Write this down in blood.

I am the blessed and the saviour,
The defiler, the receiver!
Write this down with love (write this down),
Write this down in blood (write this down).

I am the bread and the water,
The beginning of the end.
I am the wavelength,
Tune in, open your mind.

I am the L.S.D.J. (Got a message it's a mayday),
I am the alpha, the omega (So I had some...).
Write this down with,
Write this down in,
Write this down with love.

I am the L.S.D.J.,
Do you want some, man? (Got a message, it's a mayday.)

Yawning is part of it. Yawning is all part of it, you know, as the drug moves through your system, you tend to get a bit sleepy, a bit tired. You start to yawn. That, and the bowels tend to go on you. That's why they're always holding raves outside. Yes, the God of Cancer never rests on his laurels. Losing your arse is just the price you pay to get off your face.

The other thing that tends to happen to me is, just before an E kicks in, I tend to dry retch, vomit sometimes … I even think I'm going to die. This particular evening, I'm chatting to this guy, and I like him a lot, you know, because he reminds me of my budgie. We're chatting away there, and I can feel this bile rising in my stomach.

And the music's going, 'Boom boom boom boom …'

And all the lights are going, [flash, flash, flash, flash]

And all the bodies are going ….

And I feel like I'm going to throw up my fucking spleen any second. I'm trying to remain calm, I'm trying to relax, I'm trying to be fairly laid-back about the whole thing. And then he turns to me and he asks me about my life. And I said, 'well, I'm having a bit of trouble lately because the budgie just died… blurgghhh! And I have this thing with anger that I can't resolve in myself, I seem to be angry all the time with no reason… blurrrgghhh! And I'm rather obsessive at the moment about cancer, I don't know how that ties in… blurrrrgghhh! Have you seen this mood ring at all?… blurrrgghhh! Is that Michael Jackson they're playing?…. Blurrggghh!'

And the amazing thing is, right, this guy, doesn't even notice … [tape fades out] … I mean, how ripped would you have to be not to notice that someone is tossing a warm salad down the back of your spandex shorts? I mean, I'm dying in this nightclub. I've thrown up my heart, I can see it on the dance floor. It's beating there like a fucking handbag. It's keeping time with Better The Devil You Know and Disco Inferno. I'm going to die in a nightclub, and I'm quite embarrassed by that fact. But I'm more embarrassed by the fact that I've started sssslluuuurrrrinnnnggg… myyyyyyy… wwwoorrrrrrddddssss…

And then suddenly! It kicks in. And the world becomes this beautiful place… and this guy I'm talking to, he becomes the most beautiful person in this beautiful place... And I turn to him, and I say, 'Hey babe, let me buy you a drink, cause normally girls don't talk to me.'

It just reminds me of those famous last words of River Phoenix's: 'Hey, man, get me a… bllurrgghh!'

Its Kickin' In
I've seen you drunken eyes spill back,
Too relaxed, too detached.
Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening again,
Coarsing through, not in vain,
Brief relief still remains.
Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening again,
Oh, it makes me want you more,
More and more each day.
Oh, it makes me want you more,
What more can I say?

Its kickin' in, its kickin' in, its kickin' in.
Its kickin' in, its kickin' in, its kickin' in.
Hit me with the holy bar, hit me with the holy bar,
Hit me with the holy bar, holy wine bar.
Hit me with the holy bar, hit me with the holy bar,
Hit me with the holy bar, holy wine bar.
Feel your skull about to crack,
Spine is pushing through your back.

Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening again,
The room then spins as colours blur,
Your skin erupts, begins to burn.
And oh my God I can't believe this is happening again,
Jesus knows the price I'll pay,
And how much it cost.
Jesus knows the price of fame,
Sometimes it costs a lot.

Its kickin' in, its kickin' in, its kickin' in.
Its kickin' in, its kickin' in, its kickin' in.
Once it starts, it won't let go,
Its kicking out, its blasting through.

Oh my God I can't believe this is happening again,
Feel your flesh, feel it sweat,
Silver beads hung round your neck.
Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening again,
Oh, it makes me want you more,
More and more each day.
Oh, it makes me want you more,
What more can I say?

Its kickin' in, its kickin' in, its kickin' in.

And then she said it to me, and so I felt like, 'I've got to say it to you,' and I said like, 'Hey babe, I love you, you know, I love you, and that's not just the ecstasy talking'. And I wanted to say that, but in that moment, that moment, when I so wanted to speak with my heart, and my soul, and my mind, I finally, finally spoke with my stomach: Heerrrrssssssszzzzzzzz!

Why does that happen? Every single time I try to be intimate with something or someone, my stomach makes that noise. I mean, what are you trying to say to that person? 'I love you, but just let me process this chip fat'?

You know you're soaking in it!
[something]
We've learnt.. don't do the jump, don't do the jump…

MOSH!! [jump]
You did the jump!

We've learnt somebody tastes good, but Hoover wore a dress.

So I'm tripping right, I'm tripping, and man, it is fantastic, you know, because the answer, man to all the questions man, that have perplexed you man, for centuries man, was right there, man, right before my eyes man, and I just wanted to rush out man, and tell someone … man.

And then I thought, 'Wow! Look at that mirror ball! That's a big fucking mirror ball! Hey look at those spandex shorts! Someone's vomited down the back of them!' And that's how it is, you know. One minute it's there, the next it's gone. And then you die. And I thought, well, death is just the price you pay for life, man.

She turned to me right, and she said, 'You know what your problem is? You know what your problem is? Your chakras are out of line. Your chakras are out of line. If you had a chakra realignment, you'd be okay. Oh, and your aura's quite filthy, you know, your aura's very very filty. Oh and, you know, you've got a lot of trauma from a past life where you were an Egyptian princess, and you've taken that into your present self. And that's all sort of combining there to make you quite bitter, quite upset and very angry.'

And I said to her, 'Fuck off!'

[unintelligible]

… who shoot ping pong balls as a form of erotic entertainment. We've also learned that hedonism is a religion, and an orgasm … [something]
And that, that, hey man, coke, you know, coke isn't addictive, man.
Hoover wore a dress!
Why does Edward Woodward like the letters E, D, W and A so much? Because without them, he'd be… aaarrrrrrrhhhhh… oooohhhh… aaarrrrrrrhhhhh…
aaarrrrrrrhhhhh… oooohhhh… aaarrrrrrrhhhhh
aaarrrrrrrhhhhh… oooohhhh… aaarrrrrrrhhhhh
aaarrrrrrrhhhhh… oooohhhh… aaarrrrrrrhhhhh!
(assorted groaning noises, Paul sobbing and laughing maniacally).

That … was a bit of a Chinese trick and, uh, I came then. Prove I didn't.

Cocaine. Cocaine, you know. On cocaine you become the most dynamicinterestingvibrantcharismaticwild… person in the world. Well, to yourself…

Cocaine cocaine cocaine. It's not all it's cracked up to be. And it's narcissistic, you know, it's narcissistic. That's why everyone's always cutting it up on mirrors all the time. And I was wondering if Michael Jackson ever woke up in the morning, got on the mirror, did a line, did a line on the mirror, did a line on the mirror and went, 'Hey! Oh, no! Germaine, Germaine, come quickly, someone's stealing our cocaine! Germaine, quickly, come, someone's stealing our cocaine! They're on the other side of the mirror, I don't know how they got there! Quickly, they're stealing our cocaine! Germaine… cocaine… that's a rhyme.'

Designer water. Designer water. We've also learned at the end of the century how to market and sell designer water. I mean, the God of Making Loads of Money out of Absolutely Bloody Nothing must have been ecstatic about that one! We've also learned how to make loud, obnoxious phone calls in crowded cafés while we drink designer water.

We've learnt that the perfect response to any mistake is, 'D'oh!'
[something]
Hoover wore a dress… and not just a dress - frocks! Freaky frocks, with those little Holly Hobby frills. Freaky frilly frocks! He was a man who loved a cotton gusset! Loved it!

Then my lover, Berry, comes over, and he should look like this, but for some reason to me, he looks like this:

And that's how it is, you know. We've learned at the end of the century it's an absolute bargain if it comes with a free set of steak knives. What we don't know is what a free set of steak knives originally costs.

And it just reminds me of those famous last words of Buddy Holly's, when he said, 'Oh wow, look at that mountain! That looks so close you could almost touch it.' Bang!

Get Off
Live on your knees, do as you please,
Have fun when there's fun to be had.
Coke is the real thing, nothing has meaning,
Some forms of touching are bad.
Believe all you've heard, grease is the word,
And the word will set you free.
Hate congas, hey, everyone masturbates,
And love is all we need.
God is dead, and Elvis is alive,
You've got to be cruel to be kind.
The camera lied, Kennedy died,
A hard man is good to find.

Get off, get off, get off, I want to get off,
Get off, get off, get off, I want to get off,
Get off, get off, get off, I want to get off,
Stop the world because I,
Stop the world because I,
Stop the world because I want to get off.

Life's short, it gets in,
You're soaking in it,
We've learnt that conditions apply.
Size doesn't matter, the bigger the better,
We've learnt to read between the lines.
All men are bastards, all girls are sluts,
And everyone hates everyone else.
Sex is a sin if you're doing it right,
Doing it wrong is not good for you health.

Brave new world,
Nice and easy does it, does it every time,
And sometimes it doesn't feel like it should.
No cure for cancer, forty-two is the answer,
We've learnt that greed is good (greed is good!).
There's one way forward, you can't go back,
And what goes up comes around.
You can rely on the name, no pain, no gain,
And gravity can bring you down!
Brave new world.

Opus of Peace
To mend the heart of a broken world,
For those who fly too high and fear the fall.
For every man, woman and child,
I sing this opus of peace.

For nights alone without a friend,
To the darkness that has end.
For those lost within demented souls,
We sing this opus of peace.

This is our peace opus,
Such a shame that it should come to this.
Join hands and sing along with us,
Sing our opus of peace.
This is our peace opus, this is our peace opus,
This is our peace opus, this is our peace opus.

For those with hearts afraid to love,
For all those whose minds have gone.
For those who've turned their backs on God,
We sing this opus of peace.

For the tiny fights in every home,
For the pain that comes again and again.
For the wars which have no end,
We sing this opus of peace.
This is our peace o' piss, this is our peace of piss,
This is our piece of piss, this is our piece of piss!

To mend the heart of a broken world,
For those who fly too high and fear the fall.
For every man, woman and child,
I sing this opus of peace.

This is our peace opus,
Such a shame that it should come to this.
Join hands and sing along with us,
Sing this opus of peace.
This is our peace o' piss, this is our peace of piss,
This is our piece of piss, this is our piece of piss! (Everybody now!)
This is our peace o' piss, this is our peace of piss,
This is our piece of piss, this is our piece of piss!