Some say my full face makes men mad,
I say bad men need no excuse to be bad.
It is my inconstancy that some mistrust
But I can’t be blamed, I just
Continue to wax and wane and watch by night
To see what goes on by my light.
For example, I wonder what is happening here
It all seems rather queer
A strange striped person sleeps on the desert sand
A curtain round her head a walking stick in her hand
And on the ground a mandolin and an empty vase;
And one more thing under the six lonely stars
A curious lion sniffing round her head
Is she asleep or just ‘playing dead’?
You may be wondering why
I am lying on the ground
Under a desert moon
With a mad-eyed lion standing over me,
Well so am I.
The evening started so well
All in jovial mood
The drink flowing freely, too freely;
The last thing I remember was something about a walking stick.
They say if you lie still and ‘play dead’
It’ll go away.
Or perhaps I’m just dreaming
And I’ll wake up in my own bed
And …. what the hell am I doing with a mandolin
And an empty vase?
King of the beasts!
I look more like a demonic sheep.
Look at my mane
It’s growing the wrong way
It looks like I’ve stuck my head through a bale of hay.
And my tail never sticks out like this
With something odd growing on the end of it.
But worse than this indignity
There’s a weirdo asleep in front of me
And what’s with the mandolin and the vase?
They should be looking at me, I’m the star.
It’s an absolute nightmare, please let it be
That one of us is dreaming; the moon, the gypsy