Everybody Knows Who They Are

And everybody knows who they are
In a velvet garden of rhinestone stars
Shining down on me, satin queen,
Overlords of insane scenes
They go dancing across the pages
Of a magazine

Heart, Magazine

“If you want to play the drum pads on that,” Mark said, “we can get you one of those drummer’s microphones. Lots of drummers wear them to sing. And the pads don’t make too much local noise so I bet your voice track would be okay.”

“We could never do this live then,” Alison said.

“Why not?”

“Look,” Alison said. “I have a high hair-line. I’m not going to appear in public playing drums. Wearing a drummer’s microphone. I don’t want to fucking look like Phil Collins.”

Mark laughed. Alison knew it was a sincere laugh because Mark forgot to put his hand in front of his mouth. She knew he thought that helped hide his bad teeth.

“Listen,” Mark said. “If there is one thing you can be absolutely sure of in the whole known universe—and even in the unknown universe, the Goblin Universe—you can be absolutely sure that you don’t ever have to worry about looking like Phil Collins!”

“Yeah, well,” Alison said, “you have your crazies and I have mine.”