I am in a hotel in Paris
I am watching Spongebob
I feel like a child again
Spongebob is making pasta
Alone in his kitchen
You can hear the skunks shifting
On the purple settee
The chef's face is crammed with pills
He is trying to stuff foxes
In to some shiny glittering zone
We are both having
Day-glo pink seizures
The wasps fill the blue sky outside
The greyhounds are doused in sorrow
As we stand there,
Saying pink stuff to one another
As a beach ball full of time
Lilts through the room

We just stand there
Like two upper class twits
Lost in the pixel soup