MAY

Sitting alone, here in my room,
They reprise the winner, and here’s Te Deum,
Lasting three hours, felt like three days,
The next Eurovision is now one year away.

I must wait for so long for next year’s Eurosong,
No more previews, no more polls, no more MB trolls,
I've got nothing else to do, I'm obsessed it's true:
I feel empty, I feel low, I'm going loco,
Going loco.

AUGUST

My friends tried to call me, I didn't want to listen:
"You wanna come out surfing?" "No, I'm indoors having fun",
I'm making a start with my voting charts,
'Cause I wanna know why each douze, nul and five
Went to where they were placed - bribes, politics or taste?
Why did Turkey ignore France? Lack of ethnic dance?
Once I find the reason why, I can sleep at night,
I just really need to know.

JANUARY

Now we've reached a new year, and the on-season's here,
Maltese semis full of shite: sixty songs per night,
Poland's singer is obese, bimbo picked for Greece,
And Carola’s back, oh no! I'm going loco.
Going loco.

APRIL
(Long break between national finals and the contest)

Now we wait…
Wait far too long, I'm sick of all the songs,
All the previews, all the polls, all the bloody trolls,
All those simulator scores: such a fuckin’ bore,
I'm so through with this year’s show.

MAY

It's a weekend in May, it's Eurovision day,
All the waiting drives me mad, friends just think I'm sad,
It's a sunny eve downtown, I'm indoors with Gran,
I'm excited for the show…

I'm going loco.