Ballad of Tindersticks

The first time we flew in

It was cheap and cramped

The vodka running out half-way across the Atlantic

Even the steward screamed and joined in it

We didn't think we were going to make it

Now we're stretched out in wide, furry seats

Flicking through menus

A walk to the bar and there's as much screw-top champagne as we can drink

We're so easy

Taking turns having our photos taken

Sitting in front of small windows

Decanters of cheap whiskey in our hands

Drive into Manhattan on a date with a starlet who's just talent

That's what people pay the money to see

Who are we to argue?

Five hours now it's been going on

And still we're watching all of it

Can you really believe all this?

Can he really lie in bed at night and marvel at his own genius?

When do you lose the ability to step back

And get a sense of your own ridiculousness?

They're only songs

Midnight, and it's all over

Now it can really make us laugh

We're standing on our heads drinking sours of Crystal Schnapps

Now we're unable to step back or forward

Swallowing a swallow

Tasting it again, it's not so unpleasant

Perhaps it's an acquired taste

The first time, it makes you sick

Then, little by little, it becomes delicious

Showbiz people

Always there to be interested in what you say

We are artists; we are sensitive and important

We nod our heads earnestly

Already half-way down the champagne

On our way to leaving the place dry

A $2,000 bar bill

Showbiz picks up the tab

And we're on our way laughing

Laughing at what?

Los Angeles, eight days in

And our sense of irony's running pretty thin

All the friends we've made

It's 2 am, it's closing time at the Dresden

Marty and Layton play one last sleepy "Strangers in the Night"

And the last of the martinis dribble down our chins

We're sitting, chasing the conservation around the table

Jesus, how long have I been in this state?

The limousine's still waiting outside

Anything you want to do?

Anywhere you want to go?

We're on our way to the airport and a plane to Vegas

So many nights lying in bed shaking

Dreaming of pushing my daughter around the supermarket

The joy of seeing all those colours and shapes reflected in her wide eyes

My head leaning on the window

And we're driving through the empty L.A. streets

And everything seems silent and beautiful

A guy's face hits the floor

Police revolvers glistening in the streetlight

Onto Melrose and lurching through a sea of Halloween transvestites

The flight's cancelled, but it doesn't matter

We turn this corner to a way that takes us wherever

Up to Sunset

We creep up the drive to the Shattuck

The suite Belushi died in

Or the one Morrison hung out of the window

Oh, I'll go for Jim's

I would fancy a little window-hanging myself, tonight, man

Straight over to the mini-bar

Open the champagne -- one sip and it's left to wake up to

Anyone hungry?

A team of uniformed waiters lay out an elaborate table for all us to ignore

Oh, the irony

How we're used to living

Back in London on a cold Friday night

Do you want another drink?

Well, I could try

Perhaps we could make it to the Atlantic

600 yards, twenty minutes later

We're pushing through the waiting crowd, all fish eyes

An exclusive door policy

Exclusively for arseholes

And tonight? Well, a nod of our heads, and we're inside

Falling down the red, velvety stairs

Limbs flaying, hands searching for something to steady

Pick ourselves up, nothing broken

Just aches in the morning

No one seems to notice

I find a table, champagne arrives

I've been so drunk, I sit and look at you

We try and talk for the first time in a long time

Drunken confessions

You shiver, it made you feel sick

We use the rent money to pay the bill

Bumping shoulders, we stumble out into Soho

Slipping over the sleeping bags

Shouting for taxis