The real thing. The 14 track, hard copy cd delivered to your door in a beautiful card wallet designed by Snookie Mono and snuggled in a rather sensual shrink wrap. The CD is a six panelled digi-pack with a triptych of Dusty on the rear and a spooky surprise on the inside.
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Streaming + Download
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
A pair of high heels by the sink, I'm washing off the blood.
Fake blood.
And starting now to think just maybe... this isn't a real job.
I'm drinking Spanish wine, it's only half-past nine.
A.M.
But I'm still on foreign time, and I'm feeling fine.
God knows, it's Happy Hour somewhere.
The made-up face from my make-up case, is somebody I do not know.
My aspiration's just a brief vacation, but where could I afford to go?
I measure out my life with dry-cleaning bills, and when I can't manage these,
I just measure out a line – of caffeine pills – and spray all my kit with Febreze.
Ah Febreze!
All of my clothing and most of my plants are forever infested with glitter.
I spend endless hours on Twitter just trying to think up some smart thing to say.
I'm fighting a constant war with myself, not to be angry and bitter,
But when your dreams have all gone down the shitter it's easy to end up that way.
Hey, hey.
Laddered tights and tangled lives, broken hearts and then just broke.
Stony.
'Don't you fret, it's only money!' Ha! That might be funny if I was still twenty.
Like playing in the sand-pit if the sand-pit were a snake-pit.
Bitches.
Smiling, joking and pretending it's all grand.
I don't know, how long I can take it.
The failed sobriety, constant anxiety, all fuelled by the anticipation,
Of no security, and no pension scheme, and the debts of a developing nation.
I'm dragging my gigantic suitcase-on-wheels over cobblestones. Why can't they see?
These meandering twats who get in my way, don't they know that my soundcheck's at three?
And it's nearly three!
Imagine the other lives I could have: a lawyer, a dancer, a yachtsman.
What's tragic is if I get cancer I know my instant reaction will be:
My show about cancer might finally get me that five-star review in The Scotsman.
At this point it's either that or a gameshow and they won't put me on t.v.
Hee.
Bloody Q.I.
All our wishes and our schemes come to nothing and it's sad.
Boo hoo.
We're artists, we live your dreams.
No wonder we're all going mad.
No wonder we're all going mad.
No wonder...
Scooby-doo!
Oh yeah.
supported by 4 fans who also own “High Heels By The Sink”
It's hard to believe that I haven't known these songs all my life. After just one listening, you feel as though you recognise them. They are so cleverly written and performed so expertly. So many of the songs could be THE big show stopper in a musical, but here they just keep coming. If you get chance to see the legendary La Poule in concert, go! In the meantime, this album stands up on its own. michael powis
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