The Peel

3am...
3am
The house lights bore holes in my tired, tired head
My emerald eyes glaze in the fluorescent haze
As security tries to convince us that the bar’s closed for good
Herding us like lambs
Into the abattoir of Collingwood…but it’s only…

3am
Only 3am
What civilized venue calls last drinks by then?
This is no time for bed, in the night’s menopause
I’ve got just enough balance to get to the next club’s doors….

I’m not ready to go home
I’m not ready to go home

There’s still one place we can play
And it’s only a few blocks away
If we can convince them that we’re gay

And it’s time to go to The Peel
It’s time to surrender what’s left of sobriety
Time to go to The Peel
The night won’t be complete
Until we ride that rainbow unicorn into the rising sun

We know we can’t fool the guy on the door
He’s seen desperate, drunk hetero acting before
But he lets our group pass and step into the gloom
Of the heaving, well-groomed and drag-quilted room

There’s a smell in the air...
...vaguely familiar, but I’m not sure from where...
Best not to think about it.

Get from the bar – to the dance floor
I’ve never seen such high-waisted jeans ever before
I’m reasonably sure I just saw that guy’s bits
Flapping precisely in time to a 12” Black Box remix

I’m not ready to go home
I’m not ready to go home

We’re all bewitched by its call
Those layers of sweat on the walls
And the overabundance of balls

And it’s time to go to The Peel
To drown in the glittery pit of depravity
Time to go to The Peel
And we’re not gonna leave
Until we ride that rainbow unicorn into the rising sun

And as we break with the morning
We’re riding that rainbow unicorn into the rising sun…