In the teenage bedrooms of the mind
Everywhere today you’ll find
The blutacked Smash Hits posters fading fast

You were taping ‘off the wall’ off radio
Or choking a quick one over Quatro
When someone yelled that you’d be late for class

So, old, you wake from reverie mid-whack
To find that Jacko’s going back to black
And an angel’s died of cancer in the arse

It’s a bad week for the mullahs
But a worse one for the pullers
When an angel dies of cancer in the arse

And so you think it’s all red rover
Then the ute you ride flips over.
Well you realise that Christ! The

thing with nailing someone’s cronies
When the emails turn out phony
Is you come off looking like a shyster.

But you’ve no real cause to kvetch
If you were relying on a gretch
And an angel got the big C in the keister

And Wimbledon is over
If there’s no more Sharapova
And an angel got the big C in the keister

Between sleep and waking all is pretty
But dreams die in the Committee
Plain as the nose that’s fallen in your glass

Still, ride the blow-wave of history
It’s not a thriller, it’s a mystery
What will come to pass

If you want to put it honestly
Life’s less History than colostomy
The posters all come down
There’s voter riots in boogietown
Truth? What is the truth?
Only dogs ride backs of utes
And we’re all going blind
In the teeenage bedrooms of the mind

When an angel dies of cancer in the arse
When an angel dies of cancer in the arse.