Soft pile carpets wall to wall.
They're splashing in the pool.
They fornicate in corners
and they're moaning in the haze.
It isn't love, it's just the smoke.
The jokes are bad, the laughs are cruel
and Jenny swung a knife.
The statues came to life,
the stone swords crunching into heads.
The carpet turning red.
The neon gladiators are sparring sparring on the lawn
and trampling on the roses -
they make the hostess bawl.
The walls are cracking.
Detectives leapt from TV screens,
they are screaming "freeze!", their fingers itching.
Ducking as a chandelier comes crashing down.
While somewhere in another town,
a finger pressed a knob, changed the channel,
wiped a flannel across his face and danced.
Dance divine, dance in sequins.
Here come the neon gladiators!