The hunter lines his trophies up across his wall, beneath his bedA tiger's head, a snakeskin rug, slugs in a jug, the bugs make halos 'round his phone He'd call his friends to come around - they'd all get stoned when he pulled old Medusa moaning from a sack She poses then she cracks their mirror shades It's just her way He let's her play a while then throws her back, then they all go fishing in the reservoir
I see I see from my room I see from my room with a view
My room's nothing special All the furniture is old They smashed up all my windows, so it's cold I told city hall to build a wall to stop the outside coming inside but they've stalledI'm lord of this manor but it's 30 feet across and falling fast; I sprawl in plaster, bricks and garbage - through the ceiling I see blue - I see you!