Trains are cool, but as for me, well…
I don’t want a tickle; I just wanna ride my motor-sickle. And I don’t wan’t a pickle; again, I just wanna ride my motor-sickle. And I sure don’t wanna die; I just wanna ride my motor-cy…cle.
You’re a cowboy…on a steel horse you ride? Bet you’re wanted…dead or alive.
Pack my bags and mount my horse, I’m gonna ride on into the next town. Spend all my money on absolutely nothing, I don’t need no man to pay for anything. Ain’t got no shame, nobody knows my name, I’m gonna ride on into the next town.
“Nobody knows my name”??? Hell, in the desert you can’t even remember your own name, 'cus there ain’t no one there to give you no pian.
Hello. I love you. Won’t you tell me your name?
The Name Game…Jerry Jerry Bo berry…bananafama fo fairy…
What’s the name of the game? Does it mean anything to you? Can you feel it the way I do? Tell me please, because I have to know. I’m a bashful child beginning to grow.
I’m pleased to meet you. Hope you guess my name…
STOP! In the name of love, before you break my heart, think it over. Haven’t I been good to you?
You have, but guess what? Your good girl’s gonna go bad
I’m gonna be the swingin’est swinger you’ve ever had
Sigh. All this nostalgic talk of love reminds me of a time when I was at a busstop. It was a wet day, and she was there waiting. I said “Please, share my umbrella.”
The bus came and went and we stayed there as our love grew. All that summer we enjoyed that umbrella, wind, rain and shine.
It’s nice to think of how that umbrella led me to a vow.
But of course, it didn’t last.
She got a job at a mine, and, because they didn’t want to hire women, she hid her identity and called herself Tim.
One day there was an accident and snif my little “Tim” never came back. The bastards ate her!
Wow! Sounds like a very kinky girl; the kind you don’t take home to mother.
Are you sure they ate her? I met her in a club down in old Soho where you drink champagne and it tastes just like cherry cola. C-O-L-A, cola. I asked her her name and in a background voice she said Lola. L-O-L-A, Lola.
That’s interesting, because last time I was walking through the streets of SoHo in the rain, I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand. He was looking for a place called Lee Ho Fook’s. Might explain what happened to Timothy. Where on earth could he have gone? God why don’t I know?
I dunno. Was it the same werewolf? Was it the same rain? How gentle is the rain that falls softly on the meadow? Birds high up on the trees serenade the clouds with their melody. Oh! See there beyond the hill – the bright colours of the rainbow? Some magic from above made this day for us, just to fall in love.
Wait. We were eating Thai that day, not Chinese. Carry on, my wayward son.
I saw the werewolf, at least. His hair was perfect.
Did he have his hair slicked back and his Wayfarers on?
Kookie, Kookie, lend me your comb!
I think I’m going to need more than a comb, because I plan to make it knotted, polka-dotted, twisted beaded braided, powdered flowered and confetti, wrangled tangled spangled, and spaghetti!
Spaghetti? I love Italian food! Because, you know, when the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore’!