The gravy train is rolling through the streets of Babylon
My whisky arm is tired but I’ll toast a protest song
There’s Thunder on the mountain (or at least that’s what Bob says)
He prunes a pencil moustache as he mourns our wicked ways.
I feel like terrorizing, blowing up some party balloons
Go dancing in the desert with the girl who studies moons
My blood is thick and salty; I should drink some water down
Her eyes show no reflection, she’s a vampire on the town.
I’m down ten cigarettes but I’ve got ten more left to smoke
Your killers come with smiles; they feed you pies and watch you choke
They talk of liberty but liberty is bought and sold
The price of human life is not as precious as the gold.
A howling wind is whistling, through my window I see lust
Affairs and misdemeanours, still a man does what he must.
My sleeves are full of rabbits and I’ve got a bag of tricks
Don’t make plans for tomorrow, it’s the great Apocalypse!
I’ll leave the dirty dishes to go mouldy on the sink
I’d paint the ceiling purple but I need this time to think.
The workers are sleep walking to the desktop and the lathe
A soldier bites his lip and writes 'I'm gung ho till the grave'
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