Two Weeks in Hell

Two Weeks In Hell

(c) Sven Logjens 2005

Flabby white bodies spill from the plane
Full of plans for two weeks in the sun
Sleeping with people without knowing their name
Two weeks of choreographed fun

The pattern's the same from coast to shining coast
Sleeping of excess in the midday heat
Trying for conquests of which you can boast
Trying to forget the losers you'll meet

White to pink to very sore red
As the sand rubs into your lotion
And who the hell got in in their head
To get married beside the ocean

Can't find no sustenance so you take it with you
Heinz and Walkers and PG Tips
You're wild and free do what you wanna do
But your parents, they'd have a fit

Separated from the gaggle you're been partying with
Find yourself in a strange bar
The tequila the slammer the Mickey Finn
Whisked away in a strange car

Wake up with the waves lapping your face
and soreness in your head and elsewhere
Last night's memory gone without trace
With guilt but no-one to share

You'd get a taxi back to your hotel
But you've no phrase book and no friendly face
You're panicking now; it was a living hell
You'll say later at Trisha's place

Crawl back in the evening but only to find
No one missed you or came looking
They assume that you'd pulled and had a great time
And had sorted next year's booking

Well it makes you sweat and it makes you swear
You'll soon forget to live in fear
So much for an all-inclusive fare
So what you'll be back next year