(Intro) (The piano plinks in—sharp, sour, and rhythmically unsure, like a drunk trying to walk a straight line. The bass is fuzzy and overdriven, thumping against the kick drum. Everything sounds like it’s being played through a radio that’s being dunked in a bucket of gin.) (Verse) The bartender’s got a mechanical eye That winks when you order a drink that’ll make you cry He says, “The gin is diesel, the ice is carved from a dream” And the jukebox is playing a record of a silent scream I asked for a chaser, he gave me a map of the moon And told me the afternoon’s ending somewhere around next June. (Verse) There’s a penguin in a tuxedo playing cards with a moth They’re betting with buttons and a piece of mildewed cloth The radiator’s purring, but it’s smoking a cigar And the ceiling is drifting slowly toward the nearest star I tried to pay my tab with a button from a plastic coat But the register ate it and started reciting a note. (Chorus) Oh, the physics are folding, the logic is on the blink Everything is tilted, man, I think I need another drink We’re dancing on the bubbles of a glass of sour beer And the walls are made of shadows that are whispering in my ear Don’t look at the clock, it’s got three hands and a grudge And honestly, honey, I don’t think there’s even a judge. (Verse) A man in the corner is painting a hole in the floor He says he’s trying to find the way out through the core The chairs are all floating, the floor is made of custard And the hot dog vendor is lecturing me about mustard I’m writing my memoirs on a coaster made of damp While the shadows are holding a meeting under the lamp. (Bass Solo) (A wild, walking bass line that trips over its own feet, sliding up and down the neck with reckless abandon. The piano tries to keep up, but starts playing random chords as if it’s having a nervous breakdown.) (Verse) The door just turned into a window that looks out on the sea And the ocean is pouring in to have a tea party with me I asked the penguin for a refill, he handed me a stone And said, “Listen closely, the statue is on the telephone” Everything is blurry, everything is made of glue And I think I’m turning into a slightly different shade of blue. (Chorus) Oh, the physics are folding, the logic is on the blink Everything is tilted, man, I think I need another drink We’re dancing on the bubbles of a glass of sour beer And the walls are made of shadows that are whispering in my ear Don’t look at the clock, it’s got three hands and a grudge And honestly, honey, I don’t think there’s even a judge. (Outro) (The piano falls completely out of tune, hitting a final, dissonant cluster of notes. The drums stop abruptly. The bass does one final, slow, comedic slide.) Check please. The penguin’s paying. Or maybe the wall is. It’s all on the house... Because there isn’t any house left. (Sound of a glass shattering, followed by a maniacal giggle.)
