The post office, they've been hard up on your case,
The dollar you gave didn't get so far.
Beneath those endless sheets you have displaced,
Thanks to all the payments on that car.
And the beauty Queen on Bond Street throws her soiree,
After handing out free tickets to the show.
You realise that she missed your invitation,
For reasons you already know.
Walking through the backdoor,
Of a designer zoo.
And dancing on the borders of a
National tattoo.
A fashion phase you're forgetting,
A ride that you have missed.
A testament to your landslide;
Ain't it bliss?

You've asked the police and the security guards,
They look away in faint surprise.
"Since when did all the commeners get so demanding?
Why don't they respond to all these lies?"
You inflate your minor grievances and hardships,
As though the locusts are bearing down.
You find that all your talk is so useless in comparison,
To all the ticking bombs in town.
Open signs inverted,
Cobbles on the street.
Justice been diverted,
Rambling on its feet.
Potholes on the landscape,
Logic gone amiss.
Forgot to paint the boardwalk;
Ain't it bliss?

Now your landlord seeks to redesign your values,
Tries to advertise your body to the world.
All your neighbours want to lend their blank opinions,
As you babble softly, like a little girl.
The TV is conspiring with the taxman's daughter;
Both are trying to bring you down.
As you watch as all the numbers get much smaller,
Perhaps it's time to get way, way out of town.
Gravel in the driveway,
Pebbles in your shoe.
Driving drunk on the highway,
Learning something new.
Redirect your madness,
Towards a dark abyss.
Find yourself all empty;
Ain't it bliss?

There's a master playing on the radio;
Everyone has stopped to hear his word.
You take your chance and pick their pockets,
Blow the coop, like a mockingbird.
The senators and congressmen from other countries,
Take the stage and dance away.
The papers are all full of stories,
Of how the foreigners pass their day.
The West upon the tabloids,
The East within our hearts.
Grab a bowl of popcorn, babe,
The show's about to start.
Watching feigned celebrity,
An interracial kiss.
Ratings and awards shows;
Ain't it bliss?

As your ship sails into bleak, oppressive waters,
But the shop insists that all is duty-free.
And you pick out a keepsake for your parents,
And fighting off your verbal dysentary.
When the captain tries to affect your cultured person,
By persuading all your friends to swim ashore.
You react as if you know it couldn't worsen,
And throw aside your tentative rapport.
Foam along the headlands,
Waiting for the tide.
Roaming through the deadlands,
Time to catch your ride.
Bring your man, and children,
To the place you've missed.
Time to win them back for good;
Ain't it bliss?

In the shadow of the mighty pleasure fortress,
You stand around in fancy dress.
A glance into the eyes of all the conquered;
You decide a drink is probably best.
No matter the hopes you may have harboured,
The lengths you've gone to see them through.
Al the end of the night, your drunken labours,
Have all done nothing good for you.
Links to old TV shows,
Minor detainees.
Find the man who still knows,
Where to pay the fees.
Lights of coloured splendour,
Clouds of icy mist.
Your conscience on a bender;
Ain't it bliss?