When I'm gone. When I'm gone. . Roll my vertebrae out like dice. Let my skull be a home for the mice. Let me bleach like the bones on a beach. I'll be hard like a pit from a peach.
Here's the reason. I try to make you feel better. I'm the reason. That you ever feel bad at all. . At least I'm good at something. I just wish it was something good.
You're so far out. That you've gone right in. And you're so turned in. That you've turned right off. . Let's not forget about the reason. Let's not forget about the slow dance.
An embarrassment of riches. Up ahead between the ditches. Steady on, pails of blue glass beads and baubles. In the toilets of the super models. . Steady on watch what you wish for.
In natural selection I've avoided all detection. And the tender bits underneath. All with window dressing and calculated guessing. And a bark bigger than my teeth.
Smokescreen, oil patch. Road full of thumb tacks. Stiletto umbrella, steel bowler hat. And spectacles made of bulletproof glass. . Armour in the rat race.
Say you mean it. (Say you do). Say you don't. (Or maybe not). . Say it's stupider, be the genius. (Make your mind). Or be a clown. (Open wide). . Be the witchdoctor and cast your spell around.