After many weeks in the wilderness we came upon a strange, exotic land.

A land of happy hours,

Where the sky is always grey and the food exceptionally greasy.

We drank strange brown liquids,

And our stomachs swelled up like balloons.

A thousand fake orgasms every night

Behind thick dralon curtains.

They go on and on and on and on.

We sank back into mauve P.V.C. sofas.

Outside dogs roamed the streets

And the rooftops glistened in the rain

But now we've grown so fat we can no longer pass through the door.

So stay we must,

Sprouting black hair beneath bri-nylon underwear.

Yes, here we will stay

These nights of suburbia go on and on and on and on and on.