Peter Hammill - Happy Hour lyrics

Fuelled by alcohol Shooting out words like a rocket Like a prophet out of Babylon Method acting the absurd... Shoot me those highballs Till I'm lit up like I'm plugged in a socket; Lock me eyeball to eyeball Let's not bother with the words Oh, bring on the clowns, bring on the night Pour me double vision in black and white I'm falling, falling – don't give me that look! I'm falling, falling, it's the oldest trick in the book My chickadee, my pa**ion flower Show me the way to the Happy Hour I don't like to see that: Oh, no, I don't like the way the hand is shaking Shape-making like an acrobat On his way to the trapeze My friends in the crowd Are all taking bets – They're taking away the safety net Falling, falling – don't give me that look! I'm falling, only falling, it's the oldest trick in the book Vertigo on the high-wire tower – Is this really what they mean by "Happy Hour"? The line between the social and the suicidal So fine he might not know when he's crossed it When he's lost it; When the social kick becomes the gauging-stick of survival So here's to the circus Let's drink to the game of forgetting The marionette strings that jerk us The real world just outside the door I know that my legs have gone And I know that the light here is far from perfect... But I've rehearsed it, so I'll carry on Until I wind up on the floor My friends in the bar Will stand me a round They'll toast me on my way to the underground I'm falling, falling – don't give me that look! I'm falling, only falling, it's the oldest trick in the book My chickadee, my pa**ion flower Show me the way to the Happy Hour Vertigo on the high-wire tower – Is this really what they mean by "Happy Hour"? Put on the greasepaint, we're getting ready for Happy Hour Do you hear me now? Can you feel me now? I'm in the middle of Happy Hour... Put on the greasepaint [repeat to fade]