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My building's full of little holes with heads in Staring at the street They sometimes topple forwards Then stick at one another Passing freaks They rarely speak and though I don't feed them Still they keep their double (their quadruple) chins Their garbage bins are emptied each day By night waiting with lights off, their cats out, their wives in - They're peeping! They're peeping at the methylated man who spits in a can Spreads his hands for silver Pans for gutter gold He mutters old forgotten songs his father taught him Rolls on the floor He rolls in alcoves Gets caught in waterfalls down rotting walls (He's bored) My friends applaud, throw pennies and wait. . . Peeping from the gallery Aus Songtexte Mania