Tim Minchin - Perineum Millennium (The In-Between Years) lyrics

rate me

Rust

Crawls down the side of my water tank life

Cuts like a knife

Sluts like my wife

And you'd like her too

People usually do

Puss

Seeps from the seams of our festering souls

Mostly just dripping

Ghostly and gripping

Slipping

Slipping

And if only I knew

And if only I had the questions

And the moment to ask

If only I had the shoes in which to dance

To take a chance to free myself

Enough to paint a portrait

Of my paternal grandma

Nude in public

Rude and pubic

Rubix

Cubic

Sex

Resides in the core of my labyrinth mind

Masturbating Minotaur

Saucy and sinister

Half man, half bullock

Large swollen bollocks

Mostly just swinging

Itchy and stinging

Stinging

And there will be times, there will be times

When sunset falls

Like a wingless bird

N'er to sing again

N'er to wing again

There was an old man called Michael Finnegan

He grew whiskers

Like magical Mr Mestopholes

In the room the women come and go

Talking of threesomes and Reality shows

But if only they knew

And if only they could see the light

If only they could watch me try to write

The songs I long to write

And right the wrongs I thought I might

I mixed my colours with my whites

I fight the tie-dye fight in

Mighty tight trousers

And really big shoes

And nothing to lose

But my stiffy

I grow old, I grow scared

I shall wear my pre-worn trousers flared

And while the shadow may lie

Between ideas and facts

One can lyrically wax

The more interesting gaps

Like the soft bit that sits

Twixt your arseholes and sacks

We're living in the

Perineum Millennium

The in-between years

Not front bum or back bum

Not fiction or factum

Nor ideas or reality

Nor the shadow nor the hollow

Not a bosom for a pillow

Not Dante's big whinge

About cruising round Hades

The Perineum is yummy

As taties and gravy

It's quite big on the boys

But just small on the ladies

And can break all together

When the ladies have babies

And still we insist

On being brisk with the topic

In the fear the affair will turn

Colonoscopic

And we all know what Sigmund

Would say about that

As you lie on your back

Etherised on a table

Like the fabled evening

Spread out against the sky

Let us go then, you and

Fuck that, Freud you perverted

Viennese prat

Just cos you're a crack pot

Just cos you wacked off lots

As a little tacker

Your little pre-genius eyeball

Glued to the keyhole

When your mum's in the loo

And you, aged just 2

Sneaking a good ol' peep

At certain half-deserted streets

The fluttering retreats

Of your mum's meat Venetians

As she bent over the bath

Your future stared back

Like a glittering path

Gilded with that golden Guilt

Upon which you built

Your Oedipal empire

But always you searched

For the soft bit unseen

Like text beneath the pages

Or the years between

The anal and genital phases

The pereniul quest

Life's only true task

The only real test

We humans must pass

Begins at the testes

And ends at the arse

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

Not with a full stop

But a colon