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happy hour [the margin +] - peter hammill lyrics

[verse 1]
fuelled by alcohol
shooting out words like a rocket
like a prophet out of babylon
method acting the absurd….
shoot me those highb*lls
till i’m lit up like i’m plugged in a socket;
lock me eyeball to eyeball
ah let’s not bother with the words

[pre*chorus]
bring on the clowns, bring on the night
pour me double vision in black and white
[chorus]
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 passion flower
show me the way to the happy hour

[verse 2]
but i don’t like to see that:
no, i don’t like the way the hand is shaking
shape*making like an acrobat
on his way to the trapeze

[pre*chorus]
my friends in the crowd
are all taking bets –
they’re taking away the safety net

[chorus]
and i’m falling, only 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’?

[bridge]
oh 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
[instrumental break]
*cheers*

[verse 3]
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
well, i know that my legs have gone
and i know that the light here is far from perfect…
but i’ve rehe*rs*d it, so i’ll carry on
until i wind up on the floor

[pre*chorus]
my friends in the crowd
will stand me a round
they’ll toast me on my way to the underground

[chorus]
and i’m falling, just a*falling – don’t give me that look!
i’m falling, only falling, it’s the oldest trick in the book
my chickadee, my passion flower
show me the way to the happy hour
vertigo on the high*wire tower –
is this really what they mean by ‘happy hour’?
[outro: peter hammill & someone in the crowd]
put on the greasepaint, in happy hour
put on the greasepaint, in happy hour
put on the greasepaint, we’re getting ready for happy hour
put on the greasepaint, in happy hour
can you hear me now? in happy hour
do you hear me now? in happy hour
can you feel me now? in the middle of happy hour
put on the greasepaint, in happy hour
*cheers*
“golden promises”!
“golden promises” for me!
“golden promises”!

- peter hammill lyrics

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