|
Autumn is warm |
|
These are my golden years |
|
Roll on a casino of shadows at the Ocean del Sol |
|
Fortune is long |
|
But these are the older years |
|
When the waterfall spider sparkles and turns like a clock in the dark |
|
Far from the spring |
|
Sit in a barber's chair |
|
Still bringing glamour to towns where the hammer must fall |
|
Feminine man |
|
Tall in the evening air |
|
With the Zulu who walks with you always by your side |
|
And the pain goes |
|
And explain those |
|
Spiders are building their webs across skulls' eyes in the dark |
|
Far from springtime |
|
In a barber's chair |
|
Time to pull on the face that you keep in a jar by the door |
|
Galloping ghosts |
|
Take me to Zanzibar |
|
Forward and forward the chargers they're charging in dreams at least |
|
Rallying round |
|
The faces of every old ghost |
|
In a postage stamp world we slipper away with a cradle of cats |
|
In a postage stamp world |
|
There is nothing yet left to believe in |
|
For a fox-hunting man who has sold all his clothes to the slave trade |
|
You are lovely in face |
|
Love me in body and everything |
|
You've got laughter and brains and I love you so much in your hat |
|
And the pain goes |
|
Further and further and deeper and deeper inside |
|
And the time goes so slow in the winter time rolling in straw and hay |
|
For a fox-hunting man |
|
Who can stand in the fire and just fade away |
|
You are lovely of face, you are lovely of body and soul |
|
Galloping ghosts |
|
Take me to Zanzibar |
|
Forward and forward the chargers they're charging in dreams at least |
|
Rallying round |
|
The faces of every old ghost |
|
In a postage stamp world we slipper away with a cradle of cats |