Lyrics:

For Tourist Woman
The itching is turning to fever
And then to form
For Tourist Woman
Insecurities are bunk-pollen for the swarm
And vice-versa
The swarm, turning to fury
Captures a prisoner
Tourist Woman is unhappy
With the meager conditions
They have given her
From Oxford to UCLA
To empoverished streets
Of a Bengali village
T.W. fights for nothing
Believes in nothing
Except an image
The image in her mind
Is of vague origin
Of, mostly, western result
Somewhat pyramid, somewhat cross
Somewhat a mongrel cult
Like the old man
Who slept his life away
Romantics are doomed
(and that's a good thing)