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They call it paradise |
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.. purple leaves |
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The sound of silver flutes |
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The jam of honey bees |
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Oh I am getting so sick of the lies, the lies, the lies |
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Of the living dead |
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Lie, lie, lies of the living dead |
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Lie, lie, lies of the living dead |
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And there's no religion, |
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And rabbits rub your feet |
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My baby is eating flowers, |
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That kill of all diseases |
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Oh I am getting so sick of the lies, the lies, the lies |
|
Of the living dead |
|
Lie, lie, lies of the living dead |
|
Lie, lie, lies of the living dead |
|
Those elevator clouds |
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And bugs that braid your hair, |
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This often golden place, |
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That is supposedly somewhere |
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Oh I am getting so sick of the lies, the lies, the lies |
|
Of the living dead |
|
Lie, lie, lies of the living dead |
|
Lie, lie, lies of the living dead |
|
Lie, lie, lies of the living dead |
|
Lie, lie, lies of the living dead |
|
Lie, lie, lies of the living dead |
|
Lie, lie, lies of the living dead |
|
Lie, lie, lies of the living dead |
|
Lie, lie, lies of the living dead |
