Please – take me to the party. Party-music with a beat
Up so loud it bursts the eardrums of the guy across the street.
‘Cause a party ain’t a party lest it churns out heaps of noise
And’s attended by a panoply of lots of girls and boys.
And there must be, must be alcohol to drink so I’ll forget
All the stupid things I plan to do and think I will do yet.
Alcohol does lubricate the mind. With every single beer
I’ve another witticism which I speak with mind unclear.
You can’t hear a single thing I say – the music’s much too loud.
But we’ve met so many people who are here in all the crowd.
And they’re dancing – well, I think they are. What’s that? You’ll have to shout.
While I make my way to a dark corner and – once there – pass out.
Parties assist conversation, bellowed in a certain way:
Though each shouted word is just another meaningless cliché.
“Having fun?” “How trendy!” “You look cool!” “Oh man, I need a drink.”
Using clichés has advantages: you never need to think.
I’m so different. And I am unique. I am myself, I say.
Which is why we’re at this party acting in the self-same way.
I will do what all the others do. Uniquely, I am sure.
And I’ll never question anything. Like: what are parties for?
So a party’s very useful – all the people that you meet
Who forget you and avoid you when you pass them on the street.
Parties help to pass the time, to drain your pocket, fog your brain.
Just go onto the next party where you’ll do it all again.