Happy Hour Lyrics - Enter K - Peter Hammill

Fuelled by alcohol, 

shooting out words like a rocket, 

like a prophet out of Babylon 

method acting the absurd... 

Shoot me those highballs 

till I'm lit up like I'm plugged in a socket; 

lock me eyeball to eyeball, 

let's not bother with the words. 

Oh, bring on the clowns, bring on the night, 

pour me double vision in black and white. 

I'm falling, falling don't give me that look! 

I'm falling, falling, it's the oldest trick in the book, 

My chickadee, my passion flower, 

show me the way to the Happy Hour. 

I don't like to see that: 

oh, no, I don't like the way the hand is shaking, 

shape-making like an acrobat 

on his way to the trapeze. 

My friends in the crowd 

are all taking bets 

they're taking away the safety net. 

Falling, 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"? 

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. 

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. 

I know that my legs have gone 

and I know that the light here is far from perfect... 

but I've rehearsed it, so I'll carry on 

until I wind up on the floor. 

My friends in the bar 

will stand me a round, 

they'll toast me on my way to the underground. 

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. 

Vertigo on the high-wire tower 

is this really what they mean by "Happy Hour"? 

Put on the greasepaint, we're getting ready for Happy Hour. 

Do you hear me now? Can you feel me now? 

I'm in the middle of Happy Hour... 

Put on the greasepaint. 

[repeat to fade]