Christopher Morris - The Gun and the Gibbon lyrics

It started in the park, as I was lying down and my head hit a hard lump in the ground. I needed to lie down because the chemist had made a mistake, and I'm used to a slightly milder antidepressant. When I dug the lump out of the ground, I saw that it was metallic, with a handle. It looked a bit like an electric drill. There was a lever for your finger to rest against. I felt I ought to know what it was. I knew I'd seen lots of them in films. I thought the tobacconist might help. I pulled it out while I was buying half an ounce of Golden Virginia and some blue Rizlas, but he just flew upset and started shouting. He threw money at me, which felt wrong, and told me to leave with whatever I wanted as long as I just get out. I took one ten-pound note and left him to his strange worries. At the bus stop there was a lady sitting in a way that reminded me of the nurse who used to sit at the front of our cla** in primary school. Maybe she'd know what this thing was. I fished it out, and she sort of gasped, fell off the seat sideways and seemed to be asleep suddenly. I thought I'd better do something. I flagged a pa**ing taxi, and pulled the sleeping lady into the back with me. The cabbie looked in his mirror. I pulled out the object and was about to ask him about it when he said; "I don't want any trouble. Where do you want to go?" The nocturnal mammal house in the zoo was the only place I really wanted to go at that moment. I use it sometimes to collect my thoughts. When we reached the zoo, I thanked the driver, and left the lady in the cab with the tenner in her mouth. I didn't want to mess around with her pockets, and it was open. On my way to Night World I could hear police sirens. Pa**ers-by were staring at me more than usual. Behind me, some youths were laughing at a masturbating bonobo which had paused to be sick. I ducked through their gaggle, and into an open door in the ape block. A keeper was tending his gibbons. Something about my sudden presence in the cage made him run off. Outside, a teacher was telling some children why the gibbon has long arms. Inside, a large gibbon demonstrated by grabbing my object by its nozzle, and knocking me about the face. The children screamed. The teacher yelled; "Form a protective crocodile!" and dived to the floor. The gibbon sniffed the instrument, scratched its head, and - bang! - I remembered what it was. The bullet hit the side of a forlorn elephant, which had been repeatedly throwing its lunch of hay in the air. I think she was too depressed to notice. The gibbon was now excited, and shot out through the open door. I stumbled after it, feeling a gloomy sense of danger as it headed towards the Mappin bear terraces.[1] Through the turmoil, I could see a single Asiatic bear rocking dismally from side to side. The gibbon began firing randomly into its pit. As I launched myself into a smothering dive, I heard a loud crack, and one of my thighs burst with pain. I rotated my head, to see a tranquilliser dart sticking out of my leg, and turned back to find myself missing the startled ape, and plummeting into the bear's enclosure. Rolling around in dust, I began to feel vague. It seemed suddenly very hot, so I took my clothes off. The keeper who had fired the dart was shouting words like "no," and "idiot." I found a rollup. I lit it, took a deep drag, and offered it to the bear. With the cigarette in its mouth, it seemed to look happier. Then I knew I was collapsing, because I do know exactly what that feels like. When I woke up, I was in a strange bed. Most beds are strange to me. An advertising executive I know called Susie was sitting next to me, watching a television. It showed a wobbly camcorder view of a naked man offering a cigarette to a shaking bear, and then falling over. A studio discussion followed these pictures. One man said we should be more careful with children and animals and the unemployed. He was interrupted by another, who said; "rubbish, this is just another tawdry example of the prank generation." He said the man responsible was probably an American. I felt myself wanting to agree with the first man, but actually agreeing with the second, though I've absolutely no idea why. Often at night I hear a crying sound coming out just below my nose.