dOUble Z-SidE

House of Confusion

 

As the cold winds rise and the daylight dies and crow flies overhead

You been driving all day, you’re starting to fade and the needle’s in the red

So you hug that line and you count the time till you see a sign ahead

Then you hit that gas and cruise on past as you ponder what it said

 

“Had your fill of vanilla? Up to here with the narrow straight?

Spend a night in our villa, let your soul recuperate”

It’s beckoning you, the House of Confusion

 

So you find a spot in the crowded lot where the cars have got no plates

At the Romanesque reception desk the register’s got no dates

But the clerk don’t mind, he’s completely blind, yet he quickly finds the key

“Well you’re a lucky guy,” he says, “I’ll tell you why, it’s our very last vacancy”

 

“Had your fill of vanilla? Up to here with the narrow straight?

Spend a night in our villa, let your soul rejuvenate”

You’re summoned into the House of Confusion

 

Down a corridor on the second floor past a padded door or two

The room’s walls are red to match the bed and there’s a lovely graveyard view

With a claw-foot bath below a photograph of a long-dead movie star

You wash up at a sink of bordello pink and head down for a drink at the bar

 

“Had your fill of vanilla? Up to here with the narrow straight?

Spend a night in our villa, feel your troubles dissipate”

Descending into the House of Confusion

 

It’s crowded and loud and it’s colorful and they’re dancing to a different beat

You wind your way through, grab a shot and a brew, and then find yourself a seat

A girl in a pearl tiara is peddling hand-rolled cigarettes

While two schnorrers are selling menorahs shaped like little minarets

 

Belly up to the bar is a man with a scar in the shape of Harpo Marx

Sharing sake with a stocky commissar with a grin like a toothless shark

While some lusty Siamese triplets, conjoined at their Siamese hips

Sing three-part harmony from Weimar Germany and work the crowd for tips

 

You spot a Chinese tong with an ivory bong playing whiskey pong at the bar

Against a bawdy capuchin dressed like Ted Nugent in a loincloth and a guitar

At the rowdy wake in the corner the mourners are having a blast

You join in the toast when the pallid host says you’ve all found your place at last

 

“Had your fill of vanilla? Up to here with the narrow straight?

Spend a night in our villa; do it now; don’t hesitate”

It’s welcoming you, the House of Confusion