| Close the door
|
| Turn out the light
|
| Savants, a pillbox please
|
| A man’s overboard without dreams
|
| While the actors sleep induced
|
| And the artist’s bow draws down
|
| Turn the dial, oh amulet
|
| For the prince of sightless change
|
| His carriage wept by
|
| With all the trappings of death and saints
|
| I’m sailing shale while shirking trust
|
| And finding dawn in dusk
|
| And Satan’s in the mangers of Troy
|
| I’m bailing shale while shirking trust
|
| And finding dawn in dusk
|
| But only kings and queens may skip the void
|
| ‘Tis disaster, fie-i-o
|
| I’ll tend these pyres for you
|
| And poor William
|
| He’s in the poor house with cagey souls
|
| Take the pledge of the rodeo
|
| Where mudders sheltered thee
|
| And mothers pray for the tithe or leave of man
|
| As we’ll come to understand them
|
| A gerrymandering brought them free
|
| Idolaters and those sanctified
|
| In monographs and in jibes
|
| Stand upon the alter
|
| For an umpteenth repast of due fame
|
| Say, bosom brave, Illumen mine
|
| Suspended fine in crepe
|
| Your papered children have been atomized
|
| Say, bosom brave, illumen mine
|
| Suspended fine in crepe
|
| Your papered children have been atomized
|
| ‘Tis disaster, fie-i-o
|
| I’ll tend these pyres for you
|
| And poor William
|
| He’s in the poor house with a ratlike soul |