The first time we flew in   It was cheap and cramped   The vodka running out half-way across the Atlantic   Even the steward screamed and joined in   We didn't think we were going to make it   Now we're stretched out in wide, furry seats   Flicking through menus   A walk to the bar and there's as much screw-top champagne as we can drink   We're so easy      Taking turns having our photos taken   Sitting in front of smoked windows   Decanters of cheap whiskey in our hands   Drive into Manhattan on a date with a starlet who's just talent   That's what people pay the money to see   Who are we to argue?   Five hours now it's been going on   And still we're watching it all   Can you really believe all this?   Can he really lie in bed at night and marvel at his own genius?   When do you lose the ability to step back   And get a sense of your own ridiculousness?   They're only songs      Midnight, and it's all over   Now he can really make us laugh   We're standing on our heads drinking sours of Crystal Schnapps   Now we're unable to step backwards or forwards   Swallowing a swallow   Tasting it again, it's not so unpleasant   Perhaps it's an acquired taste   The first time, it makes you sick   Then, little by little, it becomes delicious      Showbiz people   Always there to be interested in what you have to say   We are artists; we are sensitive and important   We nod our heads earnestly   Already half-way down the champagne   On our way to leaving the place dry   A $2,000 bar bill   Showbiz picks up the tab   And we're on our way laughing      Laughing at what?      Los Angeles, eight days in   And our sense of irony's running pretty thin   All the friends we've made   It's 2 am, it's closing time at the Dresden   Marty and Layton play one last sleepy "Strangers in the Night"   And the last of the martinis dribble down our chins   We're sitting, chasing the conservation around the table   Jesus, how long have I been in this state?   The limousine's still waiting outside   Anything you want to do?   Anywhere you want to go?   We're on our way to the airport and a plane to Vegas      So many nights lying in bed shaking   Dreaming of pushing my daughter around the supermarket   The joy of seeing all those colours and shapes reflected in her wide eyes      My head leaning on the window   And we're driving through the empty L.A. streets   And everything seems silent and beautiful   A guy's face hits the floor   Police revolvers glistening in the streetlight      Onto Melrose and lurching through a sea of Halloween transvestites   The flight's cancelled, but it doesn't matter   We turn this corner to a way that takes us wherever   Up to Sunset      We creep up the drive to the Shattuck   The suite Belushi died in   Or the one Morrison hung out of the window   Oh, I'll go for Jim's   I would fancy a little window-hanging myself, tonight, man   Straight over to the mini-bar   Open the champagne -- one sip and it's left to wake up to      Anyone hungry?      A team of uniformed waiters lay out an elaborate table for all us to ignore   Oh, the irony   How we're used to living      Back in London on a cold Friday night   Do you want another drink?   Well, I could try   Perhaps we could make it to the Atlantic   600 yards, twenty minutes later   We're pushing through the waiting crowd, all fish eyes   An exclusive door policy   Exclusively for arseholes   And tonight? Well, a nod of our heads, and we're inside      Falling down the red, velvety stairs   Limbs flaying, hands searching for something to steady   Pick ourselves up, nothing broken   Just aches in the morning   No one seems to notice   I find a table, champagne arrives   I've been so drunk, I sit and look at you   We try and talk for the first time in a long time   Drunken confessions   It should have made you feel sick      We use the rent money to pay the bill   Bumping shoulders, we stumble out into Soho   Slipping over the sleeping bags   Shouting for taxis