Legendary Pink Dots The Whore Of Babylon
Mirror tiles, a mirrored ceiling. She preens, adjusts her
hair. She pouts, a wink. The perfume stinks, it's lovely,
like fresh air. Saints are queuing at the door: their
haloes on a chain. They're always after more and more.
The whore of Babylon: she turns nobody away. Nobody away.
They pay, they play, the ...?... fly. It's never straight
- it's on the floor, it's in the kitchen. No-one's ever
bored, 'cos the whore of Babylon knows how to make a man
feel like a man. Can you?
