Rainbow's Dead End

Star-crossed junkie misfits on the run
Some expensive wardrobe
A car, a gun for fun
They took her valise, a portmanteau
Such a civilised way to go
This must be the rainbow’s dead-end
Peel back that velvet rope and come inside
There’s Jungle Jim at Mr. Chow’s
With his mail-order bride
The higher that monkey climbs that tree
The more of his fat ass you’ll see
This must be…
Bridge: If we get separated
I’ll meet you there
In our little hideaway
Our pied-a-terre
Last year’s model stranded in the bar
With some NRA convention
Itchy fingers
Whiskey in the jar
Through this gin palace Alice wander
Absinthe makes this tart grow fonder
This must be…
Hotel, motel drifters one and all
Lie like dead men down in rows
Against the Bondi Beach sea wall
The mirror smeared with wasted chance
And nicotine stained romance
This must be…