| Comet streams and the rocket scenes
|
| And cyclone-turning seas
|
| Thy foes profanely rage
|
| Hands washed, Pontius-Pilate-clean
|
| In proud Euphrates' stream
|
| Where no one knows my name
|
| I’ll be long, long gone
|
| I’ll be long, long gone
|
| On the slopes at Courchevel
|
| All moon-rides, lifts are full
|
| Go search the world beneath.
|
| Cladding breach at 3-mile beach
|
| All spent fuel pools are full
|
| It’s all the same to me
|
| I’ll be long, long gone
|
| I’ll be long, long gone
|
| In such fell repose, you suppose
|
| That mouth will finally close
|
| When you’re long long gone?
|
| I was born of a thought of mine
|
| I was the ISIS flag design
|
| You were a Lilac Queen
|
| Paddling through your empire’s streams
|
| I was born of a thought of mine
|
| Born of the stillborn heart of mine
|
| You were the Werewolf King
|
| Peddling round your sapphire ring
|
| Soon is the swing of the Hammerhand
|
| Same is the low-flying day of the Vultureman
|
| Circling the earth I go
|
| Slobbering out of my oatmeal wisdom:
|
| Nearer the boots to the solid floor
|
| Or restless thought to the waves of a foreign shore?
|
| Racing the sun, I rose
|
| Hastening lest thy gates be closed;
|
| But I find… that there is time |