Spitting blood in a sink in a German hotel bathroom

A wet clot of red gum juice, souvenir of wisdom's ration

Rinsing face, drying hair, humming "Oh Engineer" by the brothers Larcombe

Thinking of the bands I never got a chance to spend my cash on

Ché and his Caballero chucked it in when I said I liked them

Now I'll never catch them in a smoky room on Highbury Corner

I shall weep for them another day because I'm at the fulcrum

Of the Voodoo graveyard see-saw and I'm not the only mourner

What do we do when our friends split up?

Five little sevens then belly up

There's no more ash, no more soda pop

Why did those five have to make it stop?

At least we have Storm And Stress to show for the DC Implosion

Mushrooms grown on an upstairs Smalley wall

Are chopped down and moved away from

Five icemen melt without hint of a reforming notion

And the clan I saw perform the most give a bow and leave my kingdom

Talented friends and 25 eclipse the work of certain strummers

Steel-string chords and a railway or a globe, or Mr. Bickle's nonsense

Who can rescue us from the Embrace of these Monsoonless summers?

Don't rely on magic, friends because in rock there are no constants

What do we do when our friends split up?

Is there no way they can make it up?

If you bump into my penta friends

Be sure to ask if they meant to end