Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
Simon Joyner
When you're up on your pedestal
They say the moon is on the present
And when you're down in the rut they say
The blues are self-evident
When you rummage through your purse
They say shell never escape through there
You're the queen of this bar and this neighborhood
This is your turf
I don't belong here
Hid and seek and seek and save my place
I spy a barfly sitting down to grace
Homebase
Homebase
When you're up on your pedestal
They say she looks just like Grace Kelly
When you're groveling on your swivel-stool
They take their turns with a machete
The apple of their bloodshot eyes
The butt of the collective joke
Goes bumming lights where none are lit
And manages to salvage a smoke
Hide and seek and seek and hide your face
I spy a barfly flickering by my homebase
Homebase
Homebase