Valley of the Lost Women

The windows are frigidaire icebergs Frozen in prickly heat The vanishing cream victims Are drip fed amnesia neat Where the test card melodies warm you In powder blue pseudo Bel Air Germs and flies alarm you They whisper the word expelair The eyes of the night sub zero Peep through the windows of sleep Everyone's husband is a hero And ghost insurance men creep Through the valley of the long-lost women Dreaming under the driers Eating sleeping and slimming According to what is required They walk through three-colour brochures Depicting palms on aqua marine In the half-built hotels out of focus They're mending the vending machines Where sixty Italian love songs Are sung to a million guitars They lick their drinks on sticks Among the men with important cigars Numb to the digital numbers Two three ... four five six Lost in a faraway rhumba Where the oildrums are beaten with sticks She left her heart in Frisco She left her room in a mess She left her hat in the disco She never left her address The diving board springs to assistance Throws you off from the shore Telephones ring in the distance There are lifts getting stuck between floors A truck tums into a cul-de-sac Springtime turns to ice Rucksacks turn into hunchbacks Muscleman turn into mice In a painless panorama With its perpendicular might The women are going bananas And disappearing from sight