First it was Gloria, then it was Linda,
I mean, I hardly got a word in,
with their London girl, mother-pucker,
ten-to-the-dozen,
up-town, stylised opinion.

Excuse me slagasaurus,
but you have just dialled up
the wrong fucking connection,
you need to try a little internode erection,
and you don't need a funny attitude either,
just choose by natural selection,
get yourself aimed in the right direction,
do a bit of social connecting.

This is my seduction shakedown,
the gas-masked dream of the lonely clown,
the spinal-hooks that pull me down,
the well-worn mad king's crown,
and a little piece of insanity,
crying in the lost-and found.

This is not something you can buy your way out of,
this is growing, and internal,
burning like a flaring molotov,
and you think it's all so what, and just because.
The weight on your slumped shoulders is fuck all
compared to my bone-crushing crawl.
And you think you're a doll?
I walk the boards in the wee small hours
in my spiritually haunted home,
I feel your ghostal thoughts caress me,
and all I can do is cry tears of frustration,
as I quietly moan.
In my dreams I am always with you,
but I wake each time, sad and alone.

This is my seduction shakedown,
where the Hydra's heads spin round and round,
you build me up then pull me down,
and the pain get's really fucking loud,
and then you suffocate me slowly,
and melt into the passing crowd.

You need to get dialled in, to the situation,
try a little bit of late-night husky tittilation.
Dig your dirty nails in with controlled deliberation.
Did your mother never tell you all about
the joys of clandestine assignation?
You really need to practice the seductive arts
of sweet-tasting flattery and honeyed separation.
You need treating to some serious depilation,
with razors, not hot wax,
it heightens the sense of anticipation,
floods your mind with the sting of trepidation,
and the pillow-ghost that kisses you each night,
hides the perfect man, in the midnight shadow of your mocking isolation.

This is my seduction shakedown,
where Gloria heads for her lonely break now,
and Linda talks to me,
in her language of chocolate smiles and simulated kisses,
trying to be cool and nice,
but she harbours secret dreams and wishes.
And if she fires her arrows at me,
I will bear my beating heart,
and hope she never misses.