Flash of black boot,
Stamp the cracks into the pavement.
Fix the goggles into place.
The hologram jaws print the ticket and keep the illusionists at the front of the queue.

Keyboard soaring, electronica baby, suck my discotheque.
Flash Gordon never looked this good,
I've robbed more hearts than Robin Hood.
Breakdown: strobe effects pulsing on the pavement, swaying hips, shake of head,
The disco ball is glowing red.

I see you.

O I'm running to you.

Spinning round, right round, like a record baby, right round, round round.
I'm tearing out my hair; gullies of gorged flesh leave trails behind my fake fingernails.
Arabesque, hold, recover. Arabesque, hold, recover.
Discarded clothing littering the street, spinning out of control, it hurts.
The vulture-clown has come to town.

- I'd like to move a little bit closer.

I fall to my knees, skidding to your feet in an exhausted heap of sweat and blood.



You're so beautiful, as you gather me up in your arms.
You carry me to your car, tentatively laying me across the backseat. After tucking a rogue strand of damp hair behind my ear you slowly shut the door and make your way round to the driver's wheel.
I watch, dazed, as you fasten your belt securely across your chest and then adjust the rear view mirror.
You wink at me and I ponder calmly over the wry smile you're giving me as you turn on the engine.

You turn me round, right round.

I remain undaunted and still slightly hopeful at the last words you sang to me:

"I'm going to kill you."