In the bright-lit railway station, 3 A.M. in a town whose active life is at an end I was met by a rich man dressed in a panda fur who said, "If I can keep smiling I can change the world." What world?
"Lord Straight Banana, Lord Paper Twine, Lord Biting Yo-Yo, they're all friends of mine. Lord Trannie Dolequeue, Lord Private Zoo, Lord Hanging Bishop and Lord Valium, too."
"I know you think you have a job but the whole world knows it's ended. Why do you laugh at the dying of the senile god on whom your devilish life depended?"
Shop-soiled and broken in a part not clearly seen You'll have no Armegeddon, no more screams Pleasant dreams...
CHORUS: Your world, your world, your world customer Your world, your world, your world, your world
I said, "I'm sure your faith in what you cannot see has made your slumbers sounder but it won't work for me. I am sick of fresh starts, of the promises I've heard from my lips and others of a brighter world."
"Now I'm a punchdrunk sailor who cannot picture land, an exhausted atom in a grain of sand. They who can't be frozen like a teenage corpse must be isolated and tied up in knots."
Fake chrome and a lick of paint and a change of name announced by some menswear dummy turned messenger of a master whose name he cannot pronounce You feast on bargain-basement dregs Get your self-delusions off the well-worn peg No new hierarchy, female or male No Santa, Elvis or Holy Grail
Shop-soiled and clueless, too indebted to inspect what both feeds and defets you--no respect I'm beaten, but I still reject this world, just like a sentence Without crime or guilt or sin so give the panda back his skin