| He used to wear fedoras but now he sports a fez
|
| There’s cabalistic innuendoes in everything he sez
|
| Sucking on a cigarette, picking up a thread
|
| Underneath the Casablanca Moon
|
| He lurks behind a paper in the shadow of a mosque
|
| He can’t count all the continents he’s crossed
|
| Trailing party members leaving footprints in the frost
|
| Underneath the Acnalbasac Noom
|
| His cover was broken somewhere in Hoboken
|
| The Man said his case was lost
|
| He was sent to the Orient
|
| A double agent double crossed
|
| There’s a cocaine stain on his moustache
|
| The pieces of his puzzle just don’t join
|
| People in high places want to stamp his many faces
|
| On a trans-Caucasian coin
|
| He’d better watch his steps 'cos sooner or later
|
| They’ll find his headless body in a ventilator
|
| Lines of sweat like tinsel start to smart his eyes
|
| Neurosis seeps like semen through the cracks in his disguise
|
| In a dark bordello cracked a mirror with his cries
|
| Underneath the Casablanca Moon
|
| Yesterday evening he finally lost his mind
|
| The walls fell in, he saw mankind
|
| Standing before him all raising their hands
|
| In a significant gesture which he didn’t understand |