Life In Quirm

THE CLACKS LOG OF CERTAINTY NIBLICK

Well. The good news is that I'm back in my own body again -- or my own body is back to itself again -- whatever -- and that I've found Alice's trail. Or at least an indication of Alice's trail. We've managed to reach each other through a variation of Postvital Communications, and I've discovered that she's in an alternate universe and has been trapped in an alternate Quirm for weeks now. This is her report, in song of course.

We'll see each other again. I'm working on it.

LIFE IN QUIRM

There's a Godsawful floral clock
In that town with miasmic air
Where the cheeses are ageing slow
And the cafes serve sparkling 'eau'
But they roll up the pavements at night
And the tourism turns to flight
Though there's wineries ev'rywhere
All the 'vin' is so 'ordinaire'
Yes, the city's a sad old bore
See it once and you'll cry 'non more!'
Though the cuisine is 'cordon bleu'
It's ennui that you'll choke upon

Grocers
Shouting round the veg stalls
Oh man, look at those tradesmen go
It's a brassica show
Take a look at the Watchmen
Rolling up their dog-ends
Oh man, wonder if they'll ever know
There's something shaking in Sto
Is there life in Quirm?

It's on Morporkia's guanoed brow
In plainer words than in 'WHERE'S MY COW?'
That the Quirmians struck true fame:
Voted "Most Boring Town" again!
Yes, its lack of all interest reigns
From the Ankh to the fecund plains
It's the paste in the rural jewels
(Though it's good for producing Fools)
Really, Quirm is a sad old bore
It's advisable to ignore
Now I'm watching that clock again
As the sun turns the crocus on

Short yobs
Fighting in the Dwarf bars
Oh man, look at those Kzad-bhats go
They've been digging below
Take a look at the schoolgirls
Barging down the sports field
Oh man, wonder if they'd ever care
Death sent his granddaughter there...
Is there life in Quirm?
...erm...

Note for Roundworlders:
original lyrics can be found at:
http://lyricwiki.org/David_Bowie:Life_On_Mars