A monk with a hard-on. And a lavender robe. That scratches his thighs. Through the hat that he strode. As he follows a path. Filled with every desire.
A monk with a hard-on in a lavender robe. That scratches his thighs for the height that he strove. As he follows a path filled with arid desire. That mimics his footsteps and sets his prayers on fire.
Take the train, oh, you have run. As far as you can go. They've tied your fingers to rails of stars. But can you hear the whistle blow?. . There is no one here to beat out your brains.
Oh, he's a lucky guy, oh, he's a lucky guy. He doesn't worry about me when I'm gone. He goes to sleep at night, he don't turn off the light. Wonder how to find me, if I'm alone.