Strange Days Lyrics - Brazil

There's a room inside my finger 

Where ghosts of authors linger 

There's a little man that whispers 

In a radio transmitter 

There's a lady on a spider 

With a baby's head beside her 

There's a voice inside my earlobe 

From a place the sidewalks don't go 

These are strange days! 

There's a man with an umbrella 

Who is smoking citronella 

And he sees fantastic visions 

Of a world outside my prison 

There's a fountain full of ashes 

And a snake beneath the grasses 

And he's asking everybody 

What makes them melancholy 

These are strange days! 

My language is patois 

Philosophy is in my boudoir 

My head's in Constantinople 

And my body's in a bubble 

I'm a Rosicrucian Lackey 

In the ministry of Peculiar Things 

I will tell you my secret 

But only if you keep it 

These are strange days 

But enough about me, why don't you tell me about your day?