A funhouse in Camden

It’s still there, that painting, an omnipresent stare Filthy, overseeing decades and crowds rolling down the stairs Flashy camera phones and what they see — white chalk and small talk Every kind of flaw except the one that I want And there’s a painting of Jesus In this house of decadence and depravity One man knows Pete Doherty Amidst lots of angst and money Slime on carpets punctured by bottles and a sting The inhabitants reminisce on a day that was sunshine But life at the edges just won’t let you win

Whitewashed smoky exterior — shading what’s within Green cash, can’t relax They thought me how to sing and how to sin Every kind of flaw except the one that I want Pale faces flirt with death and blood My agony rises with the damp Just like you said it would And that creepy painting’s aroma They said it’s quite thick, quite stodgy ‘Borne back ceaselessly into the past’ Loneliness is toxic