The story begins on one strange afternoon;
When Erik sat alone in his little tea room,
Smoking his Opium up through a pipe,
And giving his nose a magnificent wipe,
Caught the smell of fresh lavender waft through the air,
And then snatched a sight of that lovely brown hair.
In sashayed Christine all in a flurry,
And Erik could tell she must be in a hurry!
“Erik,” she said, “Do you remember that night,
When you held me so close and I held you so tight,”
And “Well yes, yes I do,” he said with a croak,
“You see, I am not an like an ordinary bloke,
That was the only time when I have, well, done it,”
Christine fell onto her bag, containing a punnet
Of strawberries that squished and made quite a mess,
And inside her head Christine had to confess,
She wished, with her angel, she had stayed more
Having wonderful, glorious, sex on the floor.
“Erik, this boy is your son,” She said, “here,
Bring him nicely Erik, please, be a dear.”
She shoved a little boy right into his face,
And spoke to him gravely with a voice full of grace,
“He’s a good little boy and I’m sure you’ll be fine,
It’s just that he can, no longer be mine,
Raoul cannot cope, any more, he’ll go potty,
I can’t hurt him more, ‘cause I like him a lotty!”
And with that she turned round and swept out of sight,
Leaving Erik alone with his son, who just might
Turn out to be a marvellous singer,
And write his own songs, they were onto a winner.
Erik shut up his shop, grabbed his son by the hand,
And enlisted the help of a little brass band.
They toured round the country and found themselves fame,
Then disappeared completely, never to be heard of again.
But if you were to go to that little tea room,
On one of those days, on a strange afternoon,
You can still hear a glimpse of their glorious song,
And know Christine’s choice – well, it was not wrong!