From the beat of the silent thinker. To the feet of the stompin' crowd. Just another early drinker. Who knows that thinkin' makes the world go round. .
You may point with the crooked cane. You conspire on my broken brain. And playwright fate will have his way. . We're all actors in this play. We're all passengers on his train.
Who mixed up the blood with the red wine tonight?. Who put the sugar in the salt shaker?. And when the nerves kick in it's the punchline. Well you're speaking to tongues.