In a smoke-filled room

"How's it going then?" (Hahaha)

It's not going at all

We got no more gigs

You always knew it could be better

But you never thought it would end

It only happens cos of other people

All the money that that they spend

On David Bowie LPs



When I told her we were finished

She smoked a cigarette and sighed

"One last fag before we go home"

She said she loved me then she died

It doesn't happen like this



So you always get what you pay for

But the end result is always the same

You lose everything you always wanted

Because you caouldn't afford to pay

All the smoke-filled room contains

Dejected people with no aims

A bottle of gin, a packet of cgs

Sing, brother, sing, we got no more gigs



Sing, brother, sing, we got no more gigs

Does it really matter?

Do you really care