Up on melancholy hill
There's a plastic tree
Are you here with me
Just looking out on the day
Of another dream
Seagulls' nauseating caws sounded with the precision of a chronometer outside on the beach as Murdoc sat at his table, struggling and sighing over a piece of blank paper, sometimes glancing at the sawed-off shotgun that hung the opposite wall. This morning on his island, foggy and dismal, seemed lonelier and colder than a dead mother's breast. Murdoc gritted his teeth and tensed his grip on the pen he was holding as if trying to squeeze out any lyrics that might have been stowed away inside. One of the seagulls gave out a long a cringe-worthy screech; that's when Murdoc snapped and reached out for the weapon.
The window flung open and a growling, swearing and heaving figure leaned out of it almost to the point of tumbling over the rusty window frame. A humid, salty, sulphurous odour assaulted the man's nostrils as he peered into the dense fog that engulfed the whole island. No seagulls were in sight but that didn't put Murdoc off. He grinned from ear to ear as he positioned the gun in his hands. Everything inside the room shook convulsively: pens, beer bottles, books fell off the surfaces they were carelessly left on. He sent bullets ripping the air in every direction until he ran out. The smoke dissolved in the fog and it began to drizzle from the sky as if he'd shot a whole in it. Nothing but deep silence and sharp ringing in the ears could be heard. Murdoc cackled wickedly and sat back behind the table.
The sight of the blank paper wiped off the grin from his face. His hands still felt the vibration of the gun's recoil as he picked up the pen and started tediously scribbling down lines of the first paragraph. With many a crumpled paper tossed into the bin, Murdoc finally put down the thoughts that were haunting him ever since he got to the island. The skies outside darkened as if night suddenly fell upon the stinking plastic island and the room sank in inky murk. Murdoc stretched with a sense of accomplishment and sniffed the air for the familiar sulphurous stench that became stronger with each second although the window was closed.
Well you can't get what you want
But you can get me
So let's set up and see, love
'Cause you are my medicine
When you're close to me
When you're close to me
"You want him back, don't you?" a low, unearthly voice spoke in the calm of the room.
Murdoc stared into the distance in front of him. "Yes," he uttered faintly under his breath.
"I can help you," the voice sounded sticky with sweetness and a curl of a sour grin.
Murdoc hesitated to reply as he weighed every word in his mind. They both very well knew what the following consequences might be. Outside on the beach a seagull's long and mocking laugh pierced the air as the rest of the flock joined into a chorus of noise reminiscent of nails scratching a chalkboard. Murdoc sighed tiredly. He looked old and feeble at that moment, giving into the desire he was running away from ever since he was left alone at Kong Studios. "How worse can it get, really?" If he managed to make the deal with Satan, surely he can break it off somehow.
"Yes," Murdoc whispered uncertainly to himself, "Find 2D and help me get him to the island." Murdoc shuddered at the thought of him actually saying this and he heard a sinister laugh rumble like thunder behind him.
"As you wish," the voice of the creature oozed with evil satisfaction, you could almost see him rubbing its sickly thin hands. The laughter grew quieter as it seemed to submerge below the floor and was gone completely, taking away the smell of sulphur with it. The room lit up as the darkness lifted from the skies. In the meantime the drizzle outside grew into hefty toxic rainfall and the fog began to clear, revealing several plastic palms swaying under the heavy rain drops.
So call in the submarines
'Round the world we'll go
Does anybody know, love
If we're looking out on the day
Of another dream
If you can't get what you want
Then you come with me
Murdoc stood leaning on the door of his black battered muscle car in one of the alleyways in Crawley. Behind him in the shade a dark figure with red glowing eyes stood hidden and cackled maliciously. On the ground in front of Murdoc lay a luggage large enough to fit a stowaway. He was looking at it for several minutes now with well hidden anxiety.
"The deed is done," the alien voice drawled eerily, "You have exactly 24 hours to provide me with the rest 500 souls. When time runs out, I will take away everything that is dear to you."
Murdoc was about to snort and laugh, act as if there was nothing of the sort but he didn't. The figure behind him hissed and turned to smoke, leaving a faint odour hanging in the air. A grin stretched across Murdoc's face as he muttered, "Go ahead then, I'm not going without a fight," Murdoc chuckled with delight and looked at the backseat of his car where a charming and armed cyborg Noodle sat vacantly staring into the distance. "I'll bring more company with me. You're not taking this soul away… This one is MINE."
Murdoc squatted over the luggage, working on the locks with great trepidation. Folded in an embryo position, inside it lay the azure-haired, pale-faced pretty boy singer – still unconscious with a perplexed expression on his face. Murdoc shoved his hands underneath the skinny body and lifted him up. "Boy, this sure brings back memories, doesn't it, Stu Pot?" Murdoc thought to himself, referring to the time he spent looking after the comatose Stuart as part of his community service. Murdoc stayed like that for a few moments, rejoicing at their unlikely reunion. "You are never leaving me again, Stu Pot, never again, do you hear?" Murdoc whispered as he buried his face in 2D's neck, his heart racing and hands becoming clammy by the second. 2D was then gently put in the front seat of the car and this time Murdoc made sure to strap a seatbelt around him. "Here, wear this. I don't need every cop on the street pulling me over to ask why I'm driving around with a corpse in my car," Murdoc said out loud as he pulled a clown mask over the singer's lifeless face. He took a few steps back, "Why mate, you look dashing, if I do say so myself!"
Up on melancholy hill
Sits the manatee
Just looking out for the day
When you're close to me
When you're close to me
When you're close to me…