If I knew what electricity was, I would take a step, go outside, Get to a telephone, dial your number And hear your voice, voice, voice: But I don't know how the signal travels, I don't know the principles of connection, I don't know who laid the cable, I'll hardly ever hear you, you, you: 2-12-85-06 2-12-85-06 2-12-85-06--that's your number, number, number: Who's this, Barrymore? It's "dub," sir. And they thrashed me in the road, in the bushes Broke my head in seventeen places. Alas, this body isn't long for this earth, This body isn't long for this earth, Ask the knight on the white saddle-- This body isn't long for this earth... Here's a woman stuck in traffic jam, Here's a woman mounted on a fleecy goat, Here's a woman glancing in the white glass, This body isn't long for this earth... In this world there are seven, in this world there are three, There are people who have a captain on the inside There are people who have chrysolite legs, There are people who have Bruce Lee between their legs, There are people too hung up on formalities, There are people who have 104 heads, There are puzzling girls with magnetic eyes, There are big passengers of mandarin grass, There are people cracking cobalt alloys, There are people who have "Dvartsy Cur myaf" There are people kinda "living" and people kinda "dead," But there wasn't anybody who knew your number... --something like 2-12-85-0a 2-12-85-0b 2-12-85-0c 2-12-85-0d 2-12-85-0e 2-12-85-0f 2-12-85-0g 2-12-85-0h 2-12-85-06--it's your number, number, number…
Dzhrew doesn't hear "Dvartsy cur myaf." He hears "Dvadtsat' ????" That helps no one, alas. The phase, we have discovered, alludes back to weird Kuryokhin/BG project Subterranean Culture, where it is the title of one of the piece's "movements." Michael Morozov, who ought to know, assures me (without providing details) that it's a had-be-there (St. Petersburg, 1985) in-joke. Hmmmm. Further investigation is in order.