|
You're gonna look fine |
|
You're primed for dancing |
|
You're gonna trip and glide |
|
All over the trembling planes |
|
Your diamond hands |
|
Will be stacked with roses |
|
And the wind and cars |
|
And people of the past |
|
I'll call you thing |
|
Just when the moon sings |
|
And place your things you stole |
|
Upon every star |
|
And locked in the arms |
|
Of the changeless madman and |
|
We'll dance our lives away |
|
In the Ballrooms of Mars |
|
You talk about day |
|
I'm talkin 'bout night time |
|
When monsters call out |
|
The names of men |
|
Bob Dylan knows |
|
And I bet Alan Freed did |
|
There are things at night |
|
That are better not to behold |
|
You dance |
|
With your lizard leather boots on |
|
And pull the strings |
|
That change the faces of men |
|
You diamond browed hag |
|
You're a gutter-gaunt gangster |
|
John Lennon knows your name |
|
And I've seen him |
|
I've seen him |
