Valley of the Lost Women

The windows are frigidaire icebergs

Frozen in prickly heat

The vanishing cream victims

Are drip-fed amnesia neat

Where the test card melodies warm you

In powder blue pseudo Bel Air

Germs and flies alarm you

They whisper the word expelair

The eyes of the night sub-zero

Peep through the windows of sleep

Everyone's husband is a hero

And ghost insurance men creep

Through the valley of the long-lost women

Dreaming under the driers

Eating and sleeping and slimming

According to what is required

They walk through three-colour brochures

Depicting palms on aqua-marine

In the half-built hotels out of focus

They're mending the vending machines

Where sixty Italian love songs

Are sung to a million guitars

They lick their frozen drinks on sticks

Among the men with important cigars

Numb to the digital numbers

None two three

Four five six

Lost in a far away rhumba

Where the oil-drums are beaten with sticks

She left her heart in Frisco

She left her room in a mess

She left her hat in the disco

She never left her address

The diving board springs to assistance

Throws you off from the shore

Telephones ring in the distance

There are lifts getting stuck between floors

A truck turns into a cul-de-sac

Springtime turns to ice

Rucksacks turn into hunchbacks

Musclemen turn into mice

In a painless panorama

With its perpendicular might

The women are going bananas

And disappearing from sight

...what do the girls say?