These days they say that love is a narcotic,
Something to do with dopamine or some other such nonsense.
I’m not so sure, I’ve looked into the eyes of the permanent fixtures
Who line the walls of Dublin’s pharmacopeias
And I don’t think it’s love that I’ve been seeing.
But if our feelings do come down to cocktails
I don’t much mind, I know my poison
I’m a Singapore Sling, or even a Cosmopolitan.
Imagine that scientist looking at the world
Rational, cold, alone, seeing all us junkies
In a mad dash for a fix to help us through the night.
Anyone could tell we’re hooked and hooked bad
Chasing the fantastic and falling over one another,
Smothering and smothered we haven’t got a clue
Just an idea of what it’s like to feel needed
And intimate knowledge of what it is to need someone
Every hour of every day we find ourselves alive.
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