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Pulp |
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Masters Of The Universe |
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Aborigine |
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Starts so slowly, just a place to stay |
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Somewhere warm where they can spend their days |
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Air is stagnant and he feels unclean |
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Hair hangs greasy and he smells obscene |
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Something's happened and it's not so good |
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Broken bottles in the face of love |
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Mottled flesh under the harsh strip-light |
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Nylon sheets to keep them warm at night |
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Once it's started it can never stop |
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Fills his head with a dark damp fog |
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In the distance is a constant cry growing louder as the years go by |
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Days get longer and he starts to drink |
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Spews his stomach in the kitchen sink |
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Tells his children they should have respect |
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Tells his wife that she's a nervous wreck |
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He hates his wife and he hates them all |
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He hates his wife and he hates them all |
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Can't be bothered when it's all the same leave it long enough, it goes away |
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In the meantime stomach turns to fat |
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She tries to tell him but he can't have that |
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She's only "jealous" and she's "telling lies" |
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Standing naked in his flesh disguise |
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It took him months to get her into bed, now he's got her he just wants her dead |
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She wants excitement and she needs romance, |
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all she gets are dirty underpants |
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Stupid animal that can't know why something's wrong so someone has to die |
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The wind is blowing and the rain falls down |
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Sends his family on a trip down town |
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Sees them die in a burning wreck |
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Sees them burn, smokes a cigarette |
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He hates his wife and he hates them all |
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He hates his wife and he hates them all |
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He knows he's finished but he can't stop now |
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And he wants to end it but he can't see how |
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And it's all in pieces, thrown it all away |
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Oh, but he's not ugly, he just looks that way |
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And he wants some quiet and he needs it now |
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But the scream he's started's getting far too loud |
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And he still pretends he does it just for now |
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His day will come he'll lose it all somehow |
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Killing time until his ship arrives |
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Been dead ten years but he's still alive and the time is wasted |
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and the ship has sunk |
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But he hasn't noticed and he comes home drunk |
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And he's just dead weight, he'll never leave the ground |
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He tries to stand but he keeps falling down |
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and it's hard to know he doesn't count for much |
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He's not a has-been, just a never-was |
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Oh he hates his wife and he hates them all |
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He hates his wife and he hates them all |
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Hates his wife |
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Hates them all. |
